Tis The Season
by Henabrey
Summary: A Christmas story. Lilly and Scotty investigate the death of a John Doe. Very definitely LillyScotty.
1. Hark the Herald Angels Sing

Tis the Season by Henabrey

Summary: a little holiday cheer...Lilly & Scotty investigate the death of a John Doe. A Christmas story. And most definitely Lilly/Scotty. Oh yeah.

Rating: T for some language

Category: romance/casefile

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Cold Case, dammit. I do own Detective Benson though, so mitts off.

Setting/Spoilers: Hmm, I'm not sure. It's probably set immediately after the events of "The Red and the Blue", but there aren't any spoilers for that episode.

Author's Note: okay, I know it's not Christmas time. I was trying to get it finished in time for Christmas 2006 but a) I'm a slow writer; b) I started a new job which took up valuable writing time (jobs tend to do that. They're very inconvenient); and finally c) the story itself turned into a freaking _novel_. So, enjoy. Better late than never, right? Anyway, I'm Australian. We do things all backwards down here. :)

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Chapter One: Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

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_Six days before Christmas, and panic has set in among the unprepared who've waited too long to find the perfect gift. Incessant Christmas Carols played endlessly in every store were getting on everyone's nerves. A local paper gleefully reported that a gift wrapper at a suburban mall got punched out for not using enough ribbon on the present he'd been wrapping._

_Christmas spirit was well and truly thin on the ground._

_On a typical street corner of Center City stood a man in a Santa suit, like a refugee from a Christmas card. He had the right look for it; pudgy round the middle, white on top, twinkly blue eyes peeking above a full white beard. Some people had to stop and look twice when they saw him, and a couple of tourists from New Zealand stopped to take his picture._

_Most people ignored him. Christmas spirit was spread thin, after all, and since he was standing and not going anywhere despite the freezing temperatures he was obviously either raising money for charity or he was homeless. Both were things to be avoided at all costs._

_That did not stop the man looking at every person who walked past and wishing them a Merry Christmas. He did it jovially, beaming, and you'd expect there was a 'ho,ho,ho' in there somewhere just waiting to get out. And while most people ignored him, or looked up from the pavement with a frightened half-smile wondering how fast they could get away, once they were past him they were filled with an inexplicable light, a feeling of hope, love and compassion. Suddenly the city wasn't such a cold and uninviting place after all, and the people walking around them weren't strangers but neighbours, part of one big Philadelphia community. They went home to their families with smiles on their faces._

_For those few who stopped to talk to him, the man in the Santa suit had more to say. Words of comfort, of love towards others, of the joy of giving, of the beautiful, endless mystery that is existence. For those few, life would never be the same._

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_Six days before Christmas, and a light snow was falling in the night, soft fat flakes covering the city like a cold wet blanket. The sound of traffic was muffled. Few people walked right past the alleyway where the man in the Santa suit was lying, and those that did didn't turn to look. They were bundled into their coats and scarves and were thinking about getting home as fast as possible so they could get warm. None of them stopped to wonder where the man in the Santa suit was, why he wasn't wishing them a Merry Christmas like he did when they had walked past earlier that day._

_The man in the Santa suit was being quietly covered in snow. He wouldn't be completely covered by morning; there would be enough of the suit poking through the light snowdrift for people to notice and wonder why he hadn't found somewhere undercover to spend the night, why he'd let himself get snowed on, to wonder if they should go and look in case he'd frozen to death._

_When they got closer, there wouldn't be enough snow to hide the blood that spilled from the wounds in his chest to stain the new fallen flakes like a crimson accusation._

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Six days before Christmas, and the muszack carols being played on every elevator in Philly were starting to get on Lilly Rush's nerves. Not that she minded 'Jingle Bells', but how many times could you hear it in one week without wanting to strangle someone? Six times was the charm for her; now she had to carefully keep her hands in her pockets whenever the cheerful little opening bars assaulted her ears. The elevators in PPD Headquarters were a welcome relief: the powers that be seemed to have decided that jaunty piped music was in poor taste in a building that dealt with the worst of human depravities. The only aural company she had therefore as she rose towards the Homicide department was Detective Benson's iPod, turned up to cranial-bleed levels so that Lilly thought she could recognise the Spice Girls despite the fact the earphones were clamped into Benson's ears. She wondered idly if you could get a disability pension if you developed iPod ear. And should she tell Vera that Dave Benson still listened to the Spice Girls?

Skinny, blond and irritating, Benson kept giving her sideways glances. She was used to them, especially from him, but today she suspected it was less to do with her and more to do with the fact he'd tied a tiny sprig of mistletoe to his belt. He'd be giving sideways glances to every single woman he saw between now and Christmas Eve, unless one of the brass told him to stop being such an idiot. Or one of the other detectives rearranged his face for him. If she heard 'Jingle Bells' too many more times she might just be the woman for the job. She stared straight ahead and pretended not to notice the looks he was giving her. It was too early in the morning for violence.

The elevator doors opened onto their floor. She went one way and a disappointed Benson went another.

Ah, the homicide department, her home away from home. If it weren't for her cats clamouring for attention, Lilly wasn't sure she'd ever leave the bullpen. When it came time for retirement they'd have to use the jaws of life to prise her fingers off her desk. It was normally a grim disorganised organisation of the worst humanity had to offer, home to the thin suit-clad line of the overworked and underpaid who kept the mean streets swept clean of monsters, a room piled high with papers and smelling faintly of late nights and stale pastry. Someone, Benson perhaps, had tried to bring a little festive cheer into the place. There were some half-hearted strands of tinsel hanging off the walls and filing cabinets, a shabby wreath on the door of Interview Room A and mistletoe hanging above the break room entrance. A foot high plastic Christmas tree, overladen with ornaments and a gaudy pink star, perched precariously on a stack of files on a shelf. It wasn't quite Santa's Workshop but Lilly supposed it was better than nothing.

Lilly parked her gun in her usual locker and headed for the break room, needing her second shot of caffeine for the day. They should just find a way to hook the Homicide Unit up to iv catheters and then they could mainline the stuff all day rather than dart in and out of the break room every hour like flies to honey. Vera joked that the unit was single-handedly putting the local coffee-cart guy's kids through college. Lilly thought Vera may not be far off the truth.

Lilly found Vera, Miller and Jefferies in the break room, lined up against the bench looking out into the bullpen, drinking out of brightly coloured mugs and struggling to keep straight faces.

"Morning," she said, grabbing her own cup and filling it with the brown sludge someone tried to pass off as coffee. "What's so funny?"

Vera nodded in the direction of the bullpen. "Scotty's talkin' to someone. Might be a case."

"And?" She peered through the glass petition separating the break room from the rest of the homicide department. Scotty was at his desk, handsome as usual, leaning back in his chair with his hand on his chin, rubbing his skin. Lilly couldn't see the face of the woman he was talking to, only her shoulder length dark hair and expensive tailored suit.

"And you'll find out, is all."

No time like the present. She shot them all a suspicious look and strode into the bullpen, ignoring the trio of grins on their faces as she walked past. Scotty gave her a _thank God you're here_ look as she approached. "Detective Rush," he said, not completely able to hide the relief in his voice, "this is Helen Wilson."

"Hi," Lilly said, putting her mug down on Scotty's desk and offering a hand. It was gingerly taken by the other woman, in her early forties and obviously on first name terms with at least one cosmetic surgeon, overly made-up and expensively dressed in designer suit and chunky gold jewellery. The hand that shook Lilly's fingertips was well endowed with rings that no doubt cost more than Lilly's yearly salary. The coiffured look was somewhat spoilt by the tears and mascara coursing down her pale face.

"Hello," Helen said with a sniffle. She pressed a white handkerchief to her green eyes with absolutely no effect.

"Mrs Wilson was just tellin' me she might have a case for us," Scotty said. His hand had gone back to his mouth, and Lilly had the feeling he was trying to hide a smile. It made her a little confused - Scotty wasn't the sort to enjoy someone else's pain. Her confusion turned to disbelieving outrage when Scotty spotted the mug she'd brought over and took a large mouthful like a man dying of thirst. Her coffee, her mug. What, she brought him a cup and none for herself? Did she look like a maid? There was a certain Latino cop who was going to be getting her coffee for the next week. The good stuff too, from an actual coffee shop, not the crap they had here.

"Yes," said Helen from behind her handkerchief. "It's my husband, you see."

Lilly pulled a chair over and sat in it, giving Scotty a hard stare. "What about him?"

"I think he's a murderer!" There was a fresh bout of tears and a fresh attempt to mop them up.

"I see," Lilly said. "And...who is it you think he has killed?" Over the woman's head she could see Vera, Jefferies and Miller lined up against the break room wall, staring at her with grins on their faces. Scotty shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.

Helen lowered her handkerchief to look Lilly in the eye. "He killed Santa!" she wailed.

_I'm being set up_, Lilly thought stupidly, almost expecting a camera crew to burst out of Stillman's office. _Someone got me a practical joke for Christmas. Really, they shouldn't have_. But Helen's obvious distress was either genuine or an Oscar worthy performance. "I'm sorry - what?"

"He killed Santa!"

_Please tell me Santa was a Lhasa Apso_. "Santa..."

"Santa Claus! _The_ Santa Claus!" Helen looked from Lilly to Scotty and back again. "Oh, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I've started my lunch time martinis a little early."

That was exactly what Lilly was starting to think, but she had the sense not to say it. She cleared her throat and shook her head. "No, Mrs Wilson. I believe you think your husband killed someone. Can you tell me when you think the murder took place?"

"Two years ago," Helen said with a sniff, looking slightly mollified. "Christmas two years ago."

Lilly made a 'go on' gesture. She pointedly reached out and took a sip of what was left of her coffee. Scotty had the good sense to look guilty.

"My husband is John Wilson," Helen said, looking like she expected that to mean something to them. When she saw their blank faces, she sighed. "Of Wilson & Reeve? The law firm?"

Scotty nodded. "Civil litigation, right? I find a hair in my pizza I call them so I can collect a million in damages?" In his eyes, only one step up from defence attorneys.

Helen shot him a dirty look and settled her gaze on Lilly. "John left Brown, Brown, McDougal and Young to start the firm with his friend - our friend - Bill. It's only been operating for six years, but it has earned quite a reputation among the legal profession. It's won some big cases."

Lilly nodded and smiled. Her smile faded when Scotty took another sip from her mug. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion - there was a definite hint of mischief on his face.

"There was a man my husband used to talk to. He was...well, I suppose he was homeless," Helen said with a clear note of distaste, as though she were talking about something the maid had found under the sofa. "He...lived...on a street corner near Wilson & Reeve's offices, and my husband would often stop by during lunch to talk. The man always wore a Santa suit."

"And this is the man you think your husband killed?"

Helen nodded. "He isn't normally the type of person who goes around talking to the homeless, you understand," she hurried to say. Lilly restrained the urge to roll her eyes. God forbid someone treat the homeless like they were actual people. Wouldn't be socially acceptable. "But this man...I saw them together twice, and John said they talked regularly."

"What did they talk about?"

"I wasn't interested in the details, believe me. I didn't ask. Then just before Christmas he was murdered. John told me he'd been stabbed. He was...convincingly upset about it."

"And you think your husband was the one who stabbed him."

"Not at first," Helen said, and her eyes welled up. She touched her handkerchief to the corners of her lids. "But I was going through his desk at home yesterday, looking for a phone number I knew he had, and I found this." She reached into the designer label handbag sitting on her lap and drew out a red and white piece of fuzzy folded cloth. She handed it to Lilly. "I knew straight away what it meant."

Lilly unfolded it and smoothed it out on the desk. It was a Santa hat. Covering a good half of it was a dried black-brown stain that Lilly had seen all too often - it could only be years-old blood. She and Scotty exchanged a glance.

"Have you asked him about it?"

Helen shot Scotty a withering look. "And get stabbed to death myself? I'm not completely stupid, Detective Valens."

"Right," Scotty said. "Well, we'll look into it, Mrs Wilson. Will you be at home if we need to talk to you?"

"With my husband there? And you asking questions about the hat that used to be in his desk drawer that only he and I have access to?" The tears were gone now, and she made Scotty feel like a first grader. "I'll be in New York. Doing a little Christmas shopping, if anyone asks. I always stay at the Carlyle. You can talk to me there." She stood, suddenly, and smoothed an invisible crease out of her skirt. "Thankyou, detectives."

Lilly and Scotty got out of their own chairs. "Mrs Wilson, can I ask? Why you're doing this?"

Helen eyed Lilly with a curious expression on her face. "What do you mean?"

_How do I put this without sounding like a bitch? _"Well...you seem like someone to whom image is important."

"And a husband in jail for murder ain't exactly fittin' the upper class look," Scotty put in helpfully. Lilly shot him a glare.

"The man murdered Santa Claus, Detectives," Helen said with a haughty expression, as if that was all the explanation needed. "You can't expect me to go on living with a murderer, despite the effect on my reputation."

"About that, Mrs Wilson," Scotty said. "The Santa Claus thing."

"What about it?" she asked, haughty expression still in place, then answered her own question. "Of course. You don't believe me."

"I'm just goin' to put it out there...is it possible this was just some guy in a Santa suit and not the _real_ Santa Claus? You know, someone raisin' money for charity or somethin'?"

If looks could kill..."Don't you think I've thought of that? Don't you think I _want_ to believe that?"

"But?"

She seemed to be debating how much to tell them. The lines around her mouth softened. "I thought the same thing as you at first. That he was just a homeless person. But since it happened ...nothing's gone right. John's been distant, preoccupied. He's not interested in his work any more. He's barely won a case since it happened. He keeps talking about doing something more worthwhile." She laughed bitterly. "I think he'd volunteer in a soup kitchen all day if he could. My sister got in a car accident. Our dog died. Everything's got problems...our neighbours, our friends, the house, our cars...it's almost as if there's someone somewhere pulling strings to make us miserable."

"Payback's a bitch, you mean," Scotty said.

"I wouldn't have put it that way, Detective, but, essentially - yes. That makes me think the man my husband killed..."

"Santa Claus."

"Santa Claus," she agreed with a sigh. "I know it's stupid. I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was eight. But remember when you were children, Detectives, how magical Christmas was? How you'd wake up at five o'clock in the morning because you were just too excited to stay asleep? The world seemed so alive with possibilities. Now...it's as though any magic there was in the world has gone. And I think it's my husband who's caused it." With that, she shook their fingertips again, folded up her blotched handkerchief and walked out of Homicide. There was a sudden flurry of activity from the other detectives in the bullpen, which made Lilly suspect that the trio in the break room weren't the only ones listening in on Helen's story. She exchanged another look with Scotty, and then gave his arm a light slap. "Do I look like a waitress, Scotty?"

"Sorry, I was desperate. Although, now you mention it, I have always wondered what you'd look like in one of those little - "

"Just forget it."

"Okay, okay. I'll buy you one to replace it."

She gave her head an amused shake, a smile playing around her lips. His puppy dog eyes worked wonders on her, and she couldn't stay annoyed. "What do you think?"

"About the case or the coffee?"

"All you should be thinking about the coffee is how fast you can get me a replacement. I meant the case."

"I think I wished I'd called in sick today," Scotty said, then shook his head. "Naw...Santa Claus or not, we still got a dead guy and a lead on who got him that way."

"Pay a visit to Evidence?"

"After you."

They were packaging the hat up for forensics to take a look at when they were joined by Vera, Jefferies and Miller, who had ventured out of the break room now Helen had left and they didn't have to keep the smiles off their faces. "What's up?"

"Woman's husband killed Santa Claus," Scotty explained. "Got the bloody Santa hat to prove it."

"Santa Claus is dead, huh?" Vera asked. "No wonder I didn't get the Ferrari I asked for last year."

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End of part one...please leave a review!


	2. Deck the Halls

Tis The Season by Henabrey

Disclaimers 'n' stuff in Chapter One

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Chapter Two: Deck the Halls

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It paid not to think about the contents of the evidence boxes too much; a cop who started thinking about the contents of the evidence boxes and then started counting the number of evidence boxes in the evidence warehouse and then started really thinking about what that meant, that each box meant a person dead, a family grieving, lives destroyed, and that no matter how hard you worked you were never going to be able to solve them all and that no matter what you did you'd never be able to stop more evidence boxes arriving, hundreds of them a year...well, the cop who did that would find the bottle of scotch they kept at home harder and harder to stay away from. That or the business end of their service weapon.

Lilly skirted dangerously close to counting boxes sometimes. It was her job to go in and blow the dust off the old ones and bring them up into the light, to delve around in decades-old pain, and sometimes when she was down there in the warehouse she'd look at the neat rows of white boxes standing on their clinical metal shelves and wonder about them. How many didn't have 'closed' written on them? She'd solved a bunch of them since she'd started working the cold ones, but how many of them were there on the shelves waiting for her, and how many would she be able to get to in the twenty-five or so years she still had left in her working life and how many would she have to leave on the shelf unsolved and -

"Found it," Scotty said.

Lilly started at the sound of his voice and turned to see him striding up the row, white box in his hand, grin on his face. Well okay, then. She might never be able to solve all the cases in here, but she at least had a chance with this one, and that was where she needed to focus her energies. She pushed the thought of all the other boxes to the back of her mind as Scotty dumped the box on the floor at her feet and pulled up a couple of stepladders for them to sit on. Lilly prised off the box's lid.

"Have we got a name for our Santa?" she asked.

"Get this - John Doe."

"Great." That meant she couldn't go back to Helen Wilson and tell her that her husband had killed plain old Joe Schmo from the Poconos rather than a mythical supernatural being who flew round the world at the speed of light in a sleigh powered by reindeer.

"Oh, it gets better," Scotty said, and his grin broadened. "Guy was known to the local soup kitchen. As 'Nicholas'."

As in Saint, no doubt. "_Great_." She eyed his grin suspiciously. "You look like you're enjoying this far too much for someone who wished he called in sick this morning."

He shrugged. "You have to admit, it's kinda funny."

She shook her head at him and opened the file folder. "Male, white, sixties, died of four stab wounds to the chest. Found wearing a Santa suit. No arrests, no serious suspects, no clue to his actual identity. They found the knife, but no prints. No forensics of any particular use."

"Have you seen the crime scene photos yet?"

She pulled them out and made a face. "Ah, crap. What am I going to tell Helen?" The face of the dead man gazing at her from the photos could have been taken straight from a Christmas card, were it not for the blood and the blank, cold stare of death. White hair, a beard, blue eyes; he looked like the cheerful, twinkly-eyed grandfather every kid deserved. That or a mythical supernatural being who flew round the world at the speed of light in a sleigh powered by reindeer. _Crap_.

"That she was right and we were wrong to pretend not to laugh at her."

"Completely, totally not helping, Scotty."

"Sorry," Scotty said, not sounding sorry at all. "Hey, hang on." He was leafing through a list of the evidence found with the body, and he flipped the page up to show her what he was looking at. "List of the guy's belongings - one Santa hat."

"He was wearing the hat when he was found?"

"Accordin' to this it was on the ground next to him, smeared in blood."

"So the hat Helen found wasn't our victim's," Lilly said, musing. "So, what...John's innocent after all?"

"Unless our Santa had two hats...but who has two Santa hats, and why'd John only take one? Maybe the hat came from another guy in a Santa suit...maybe he's some kind of Santa serial killer."

"Maybe we'll find the Easter Bunny buried in his back yard."

Scotty glanced at her, surprised to hear her make a joke, and grinned. She was normally so serious with the cases she worked - with good reason, but sometimes Vera's sarcastic comments were a welcome break from the misery they dealt with every day. He wasn't used to hearing jokes coming out of his partner's mouth - but he liked it.

Lilly saw the way he was looking at her and shook her head. "Either way, the Santa hat Helen found had blood on it. I'd like an explanation of how it got there."

"Me too," Scotty said, standing up. He offered a hand to Lilly, who took it and hoisted herself off the stepladder. She liked the way his hand felt in hers; warm, strong, the fingertips slightly calloused. She could count the number of times she'd touched him on two hands and have fingers left over; for two people who worked so closely together they were remarkably separate. She wondered why that was. They were both private people, she thought; maybe that had something to do with it - they were open with neither their thoughts or gestures. She knew about her own past and why she was the way she was, but she realised she didn't know much about his. Maybe there was something in there that haunted him as she was haunted.

She was curious, but would never ask. Quid pro quo - if he shared his past with her, she'd have to do the same with him. And there were things in there she couldn't share with anyone. Not even herself.

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The Wilsons lived in a nice area of Philadelphia; not the old money look-how-big-my-mansion-is areas Lilly wasn't comfortable even setting foot in, but a neighbourhood filled with well kept, spacious homes that obviously cost more than a cop's salary could afford. The Wilsons' street was dotted with Audis, Saabs and SUVs that had never been off road; classy but not flashy. _I have money but I don't have to show it off_. Perfect for a lawyer and his high-maintenance wife.

It was broad daylight - luckily, Lilly thought as they pulled up in front of the Wilsons' two storey highly groomed house. If it had been night she'd have needed sunglasses. Everywhere she looked on the house there were Christmas light wires. On the roof edges and chimneys, the window frames, the trim above the garage door, the pathway leading to the front step, even the leafless shrubs in the front yard were covered in thousands of little tear-shaped bulbs waiting for sundown so they could explode into festive cheer. An enormous wreath covered half of the front door and a Christmas tree that must have been close to ceiling height was visible through one of the windows. Lilly loved Christmas as much as the next person, but she managed to restrain herself to a tree, a wreath and a few subtle decorations. Helen and John's house looked as though it was auditioning for the part of Santa's Workshop in a movie. The city council could save money by turning off the street lights on this road, Lilly thought - the Wilsons' house would light up the whole block. There was probably enough juice running into that house to power a small town.

Lilly exchanged a look with Scotty. "Think Helen is trying to compensate for something?"

"If there's a life-size nativity scene in that house I'm runnin', murdered Santa or no murdered Santa," Scotty deadpanned, getting out of the car.

"I'll be right behind you."

They'd arrived at Wilson & Reeve's expensive-looking offices not long before to discover that they'd missed John Wilson by ten minutes. Other lawyers had long, booze-soaked lunches at expensive restaurants on the client's dime, but the pretty, perfectly presented and very blonde receptionist had explained that Wilson preferred to go home to eat. She seemed to find that sort of behaviour suspicious and didn't seem the least bit surprised to find homicide detectives on the doorstep looking for her boss. Scotty's very best flirtatious smile had procured the Wilsons' address in less than three seconds.

There was a blue Audi sedan outside the house, a few years old by the look of it, and Scotty wondered why it hadn't been replaced. You'd expect a successful lawyer who lived in this part of town to be replacing his luxury car every year or two. There was even a scratch in the rear fender.

The doorbell played 'Jingle Bells' when Lilly reached past the enormous wreath and pressed the button. She and Scotty raised their eyebrows at each other. "You think they replace that every year?"

"Sure. Can't be playin' 'Jingle Bells' in July, now, can you?"

"What _is_ the seasonally acceptable doorbell theme for July?"

They hid their grins just in time as the door opened to reveal a forty-something Hispanic woman wearing a blue uniform dress, sneakers and a tired expression. The maid, no doubt. They flashed their badges at her.

"Detectives Valens and Rush, Homicide. We're lookin' for John Wilson?"

There was a moment's hesitation before, with a surprised and almost fearful expression on her face, the woman held the door open for them and they stepped into the entrance foyer, tastefully yet expensively decorated and dominated by a large mahogany staircase. Lilly had always thought of entrance foyers as superfluous rooms, designed for nothing except making an impression, and this one was no different. It held several useless, spindly pieces of furniture, expensive looking vases and paintings of severely dressed ancestors that hung on the walls and glowered over the scene before them. Like the entire neighbourhood, the room said _I have money but I don't need to show it off_. No doubt Helen had had a lot to with the decorating. There was a scent of vanilla in the air that didn't quite cover the peculiar musty, antique smell unique to old houses. The only sound was the dignified ticking of a grandfather clock in one corner of the room. Christmas had made little headway in this room, which compared with the outside of the house was a welcome change. Only a bunch of mistletoe hanging directly above their heads let Lilly know what time of year it was. She hoped Scotty hadn't looked up and seen it - she'd never been a fan of mistletoe. And there was no way she was kissing her partner. Not in this lifetime.

The maid led them past the stairs to a hallway running the length of the house. The wooden floorboards were noisy under their feet as they walked past several doorways to where the hallway terminated in white wooden double doors with black metal handles. The maid turned to face the detectives.

"Wait here, please." She turned the door handles with a creak and went inside. Lilly could hear her speaking to someone inside before coming back out. "Mr Wilson will see you now," the woman said, holding the door open for them.

Scotty led the way into a combination kitchen/eating area at the back of the house, no doubt not intended for visitors but still looking like something from a magazine. The kitchen appliances were all new and expensive European brands and every surface gleamed as though it had just been polished. Which, given the presence of the maid, they may well have been. Beyond the kitchen was a hexagonal eating area large enough for a good-sized table and little else. Through French doors Scotty could see a long, narrow garden, leafless and lightly snow covered but still neatly manicured. On a shelf above the table were several framed photos of an alarmingly fluffy white lap dog.

Standing in the kitchen, in the process of making a chicken sandwich, was a man they guessed was John Wilson. He wasn't what they expected; the man they saw before them wouldn't fit anyone's picture of what a lawyer should look like. He had the suit, yes, and it was well cut and partnered with a silk tie, and no doubt the whole outfit cost more than Lilly's entire wardrobe, but he didn't seem comfortable in it. He looked to Lilly like someone who'd never worn a suit before and wasn't quite sure how anyone could have talked him into it. He was in his forties, maybe a couple of years older than Helen, tall and thin with dark hair and eyes. Not drop dead gorgeous but handsome enough. The main difference between him and a lawyer cliche, Lilly thought, was his face - no smug, arrogant, power hungry expression but one of openness and honesty. Lilly found herself liking him before he'd even opened his mouth, despite the fact he was a murder suspect.

"Hello," he said, wiping his hands on a teatowel. "Mariana said you were homicide detectives? John Wilson."

"Valens and Rush," Scotty said, showing his badge again and getting out his notebook. "We're here about a murder happened two years ago."

John's face flickered with something unreadable. "You mean Nicholas."

"We have him listed as a John Doe," Lilly said. "He always wore a Santa suit."

"Nicholas," John nodded. He seemed deflated somehow. "Are you close to catching the man who killed him?"

"We're hopin' you can help us with that," Scotty said. John looked confused.

"Your wife came to see us this morning," said Lilly.

"My wife?"

"She had somethin' to show us...somethin' she found in your desk drawer."

Comprehension dawned on John's face and Lilly was ready to write him off as a suspect. There wasn't a shred of guilt or fear or resignation in his expression; no sign that he knew they were onto him. Of course, it could have been an act, but her cop instinct told Lilly it wasn't. "The hat," John said. "She found the hat."

"You wanna tell us about it?"

"Is this why my wife went to New York all of a sudden? She thinks I'm a murderer?"

"You had a hat covered in what looks like blood hidden in your desk drawer," Lilly said. "And you were friends with a man in a Santa suit who got stabbed to death not two blocks from your office. Can you blame her for wondering?"

"Look, I was in hospital the night Nicholas was killed. Check their records; it was Pennsylvania General. I fell down the stairs at work." He lifted his fringe, and they could see a thin, faded scar running along his hairline. "Eight stitches. They kept me in overnight for observation."

Lilly exchanged a look with Scotty. So much for a quick resolution. "We'll check," she said. "But that still doesn't explain the hat."

John walked slowly over to the table, leaving his sandwich on the bench, and sat down heavily. He seemed like a man who had just lost his best friend. "I knew Helen and I haven't been exactly seeing eye to eye lately, but I never thought...how could she think I was capable of..." he looked up at Lilly, and she could see the anguish on his face. "Nicholas was my friend!"

"Friends kill friends sometimes, Mr Wilson. It happens. The hat?"

"Right, the hat." John ran his hands through his hair. "That was from earlier, about three weeks earlier."

"What happened three weeks earlier?"

"It's how I met him."

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_Early December, two years before._

_Night, cold and dark. Same as it was yesterday when he left the office, and the day before that and the day before that and for as long as he could remember. Nine to five was a foreign concept to him. Good thing Helen wasn't the complaining type. Come to think of it, she was probably pleased. How else would she pay for her endless interior decorating?_

_He huddled a little further into his coat and scarf as he started to walk to where he'd left his car. Hopefully it was still there - there had been a young punk eyeing it off when he parked it that morning. And no one bothered to check on car alarms these days; nobody even responded to calls for help half the time. _

_He was a block away from the office when something caught his attention from the corner of his eye - a flash of red and white. The guy in the Santa suit he'd been seeing for the last couple of days standing on the street corner, wishing everyone who passed him Season's Greetings. He hadn't seemed to be begging, but then again he didn't seem to have anywhere else to go, either. The Santa suit was a nice touch._

_Only this time Santa wasn't standing on the street corner, and he wasn't filled with holiday cheer. There was an alleyway across the street, a narrow and dark space sandwiched between two office buildings and not the sort of place you'd want to go alone at night, and Santa was in it, on the ground with his back to a wall and his hands in the air. John stopped walking to get a better look. There was a guy standing over Santa, young, white, looked a little like the guy who'd been checking out his Audi that morning. He had a knife in one hand and a small plastic bag in the other. There was blood on the knife and on Santa's hands._

_"Fuckin' kill you, man," the young guy said in a hiss. "Bad fuckin' day for you."_

_Now John did something that was perhaps stupid. Nobody responded to calls for help half the time these days, wasn't that what he'd just been thinking? He normally wasn't any better when it came to the needs of others; he'd been a get-ahead guy all his life. Everyone else could just take care of themselves. Especially when they were being threatened with knives - he wasn't the type to take a bullet for someone, so to speak. But now...he couldn't explain it to himself afterwards, had no idea why he did it, but he stepped off the sidewalk onto the street._

_"Hey!" he said. He had a briefcase in one hand, not a gun perhaps but better than nothing, and he scrabbled in his coat pocket for his cellphone. "Hey! I'm calling the cops!"_

_The young guy turned in his direction, and John could see he was no more than eighteen, not quite at home in his body, like his bones had grown too fast for the rest of him to catch up. He had lanky blond hair worn too long and blank, empty eyes. He was afraid, John could see, and he had the idea that the knife was something the boy wasn't used to, like he hadn't intended to use it. The knowledge gave John the courage to keep walking towards the pair, drawing himself up to his full height and trying to look threatening. He flipped open his cell as he walked, dialling 911._

_"You hear me? I'm calling the cops! Get outta here!"_

_The kid turned back to Santa and waved the bag at him. "You don't come between me and this again, you hear?" He tapped the point of the knife on the bag, emphasising his point, and then with a last look at John he took off down the alleyway, sneakers slapping wetly on the rain soaked pavement. Half way down the knife slipped out of his hands and clattered to the ground but he didn't break stride, didn't even seem to notice._

_Santa pulled himself slowly into an upright position against the rough brick wall of the alley just as John reached him, coughed, and held out one bloody hand. John took it and shook._

_"Thankyou," was all Santa said._

_----------_

"He had a cut on his hand, from the knife," John said. "We used the hat to stop the blood while we waited for the paramedics to arrive."

"They catch the guy?" Scotty asked.

John shook his head. "There was a police report, but they never asked me to testify, so I guess they never caught him. No offence, but I doubt catching people who mug the homeless is all that high on a cop's to do list."

Scotty let it slide. "You know what was in the bag?"

"Drugs," John said. "Nicholas caught him with them. Tried to take them off him."

"What, for himself?" Guy who always wore a Santa suit for fun had to be on something, after all.

"No. No way. He was just trying to stop the guy from using. Nicholas was like that."

"Like what, exactly?"

John shook his head slowly, looking down at the wooden table top. "He liked to see the best in people, often when they couldn't see it themselves. He had this way of helping you to see it for yourself. Did more to get people off drugs or the streets or the game than a whole legion of social workers and counsellors ever could. Every time I saw him he had a different lost soul with him. Lot of lives changed because of Nicholas."

"Is that what you were?" Lilly asked. "A lost soul?"

"I wouldn't have thought so. I was doing exactly what I thought I always wanted; my own firm, big house, nice car...expensive wife...I was raking the money in. Anyone would have called me a success."

"But?"

"But then I met Nicholas." He shook his head again. "It's funny. I couldn't tell you exactly what we talked about. Not word for word. It's like once you were away from him all his words just faded away like smoke. But they took root...here." He patted his chest. "Like you listened with your heart instead of your ears. Things you hear with your heart might not stick in your head, but they stay in your soul. They're a lot harder to shake, the ideas you get listening with your heart. I learned a lot from Nicholas."

"Like what?"

"That there was more to life than this." He waved his hand at the room around him. "All this...crap...means nothing in the end. There are more important things in life. Like compassion for others, like doing good deeds without reward, like giving something of yourself to the world every second of every day. That at the end of your life, it's not the money you made or the power you had that counts, it's the people you've helped, the lives you've changed. That's what really matters."

"And here you were in a big house with a nice car and an expensive wife."

John nodded ruefully. "Kind of made me feel like a selfish bastard, I can tell you. Suddenly a career spent suing people for giving a bad haircut seemed so worthless."

"But you're still here in the big house," Lilly said. "You heard the words but decided not to throw it all in and open your own soup kitchen?"

He looked a little defensive. "I have an _expensive_ wife," he said. "Helen's losing patience enough with me as it is. How d'you think she'd feel if I quit my job and sold the cars? Told her I wanted to spend my days volunteering at the local homeless shelter? Started doing my own housework? I'd be single again in a very short period of time, I can tell you."

Scotty nodded. Made sense, from what he saw of Helen that morning. "So you're stuck in the cushy job, rakin' in the cash."

"I do what I can. Give money, spend some time at the soup kitchen down the road from the office. Give free legal advice sometimes, although I have to do it away from work. Bill, my partner, he's not happy when he sees a homeless guy or a hooker in the lobby. Thinks it makes the place look bad. Helen's not even happy with me doing that much. She'd rather I just went to charity balls like everybody else."

"But you don't think that's enough."

"Not anymore, no." He sighed, looking like an innocent man stuck in jail. Lilly felt sorry for him. Maybe he could be standing up to Helen more than he was, but she knew better than many how hard it was to change the habits of a lifetime, no matter how badly you wanted things to be different. She was living proof of that.

"What can you tell us about Nicholas?" Scotty asked. He was as ready to cross John off the suspect list as Lilly was. The penitent yuppy routine could be an act, of course, but if it was it was a hell of a good one. "His real name, for instance? Where he came from?"

"Sorry," John said. "He was never interested in talking about himself, I'm afraid. He was foreign...had a European accent of some kind, but I never even found out which country he was from. Scandinavian, I'd guess."

"What about enemies? Anyone you can think of might want to harm him?"

"No. Apart from the guy with the knife and the dope. You might want to check with Freddie's - that's the soup kitchen near my office. I know he went there sometimes. The manager's name is Anna Taylor, she might know more."

"Okay, Mr Wilson. Thanks," Scotty said, flipping his notebook closed.

"No problem. I'll walk you out." He led them over the noisy floorboards of the hallway to the entrance room, still reeking of age and vanilla. They could hear a vacuum cleaner operating somewhere up the elaborate staircase. Despite the spaciousness of the room, Lilly found it somehow oppressive. She could think of worse places to be imprisoned, but she imagined it must feel just like that to John - a prison, much the same way she felt her own past to be a prison. She wanted to say something to him but wasn't sure what - probably the same thing she couldn't find the words to say to herself.

John paused by the front door to let them get their coats on. "I want to thank you, for taking another look at this case. I'm sure Nicholas would forgive the guy who killed him, but damned if I can. His killer deserves to be found and punished."

"We'll do our best, Mr Wilson," Lilly said with a smile.

John smiled back, a little sadly, and opened the door and stood back to let them out and a cold blast of air in. As he did, he looked up and his smile got a little broader. "Sorry, Detectives. My wife...she does like her Christmas decorations..."

Lilly looked up to find she and Scotty were standing under the mistletoe again. _Crap_. She sneaked a glance at Scotty to find that he'd looked up and seen it too. _Double crap_. His eyes met hers, with the same half embarrassed, half scared expression she was sure was on her own face. She froze, not sure what to do. She wasn't going to kiss him, that was for sure. Not in front on anyone else, anyway; no, if she were going to kiss Scotty it would be somewhere where they could be alone, and...now, where did that thought come from? Okay, part of her wondered what he'd do if she did reach over and plant one on him, and part of her wondered if he was thinking the same thing, and dear God, did she _want_ to kiss him?

_Triple crap._

Decades passed, eons, before she managed an awkward little laugh and the tension was broken. "Never was one for these -"

"Not that particular -" Scotty broke in.

"No, me either." As one, they walked out the door, Lilly getting stabbed by the over large wreath on the way out and barely feeling it. Once safely outside they turned back to John, who was standing in the doorway with that same sad smile on his face.

"Sorry," he said again. "My wife's idea. She goes a little overboard at Christmas."

"We noticed all the lights on the way in," Lilly said. "Is that Helen too?"

"Yeah...she says she gets filled with the holiday spirit." John paused awhile to think, hopping lightly from one foot to the other to keep warm. "Just in the last two years, really, that she's gone to this extent. Since Nicholas died. We've had some problems with the house and the cars, the neighbours - our dog Oscar died two months ago. And things haven't exactly been harmonious between us. Maybe she thinks she can fix things with Christmas spirit." He shrugged and laughed softly. "I wish she could."

"She's got this idea," Scotty said. "Seems to think that Nicholas was Santa Claus. The real one."

John looked surprised, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Well, maybe he was, you know. There was something about him." With that, he gave a half wave of his hand and closed the door, leaving Lilly and Scotty alone on the pathway, while a few wayward flakes of snow drifted down like confetti from the sky.

----------

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	3. Away in a Manger

Tis The Season by Henabrey

See Chapter One for disclaimers n stuff

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Chapter Three: Away in a Manger

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They were two blocks from police headquarters when Scotty spied a vacant parking space outside his favourite diner and came to a sudden screeching halt. A maroon Toyota, forced to veer round him as he pulled in, beeped its horn as it went past. The driver waved a single angry finger.

"What are we doing?" Lilly asked, pushing herself off the dashboard she'd ended up against after the sudden stop.

"Well, we'll sweet talk Vera and Jefferies into checkin' Wilson's alibi and pullin' the record of the assault...Central will have that...while we go talk to the good folks at Freddie's and see if anyone remembers anythin'."

"None of which involves parking here."

"Chicken sandwich, Lil. The one Wilson was makin' gave me an appetite. C'mon, it's lunchtime." He got out of the car, walked round to her side and opened the door. She couldn't help smiling. "Besides, I think I owe you a coffee."

"Yes, you do. Several." He offered a gloved hand and she took it and pulled herself out of the car. It was cold away from the vehicle's heating system, and she shivered. It was the weather and not the feel of his hand clasping hers making her shiver, she insisted to herself. Just the weather. She huddled into her coat.

Abigail's was a quiet, clean establishment frequented by nearby workers at lunchtime and by no one else during the rest of the day. The midday rush had come and gone by the time Lilly and Scotty pushed open the door and the well kept, slightly shabby, vinyl covered booths were mostly deserted. The green walls were decorated with small framed pictures of Italian and French scenes and there were red and white checked curtains on the windows. Jars of homemade cookies lined the counter and a menu written in chalk dominated the wall above the door to the kitchen. There was a good smell of cooking in the air. Scotty came here all the time, and brought Lilly when she could be persuaded to leave her work long enough to sit down and eat something. It wasn't fine dining, maybe, but Abigail's sure knew how to make a chicken sandwich.

Abigail herself, a worn looking bird-like woman of fifty with a cloud of mousy hair caught precariously in a loose bun, was standing behind the counter talking to one of the waitresses. She gave Scotty, as one of her regulars, a beaming smile. "Got your choice of seats today, hon."

Scotty selected a booth half way down the room, away from the door where the cold December air was seeping through any crack it could find. From there he could watch the car and the slow drift of isolated snowflakes as they made their way down from the leaden sky. Lilly pulled off her coat and took the seat opposite him, sliding along the bench until she was next to the window. She had a view of Florence's Duomo, Venice's Grand Canal and Mont Blanc from her position, all neatly framed in white-painted pine. She wondered if Abigail had been to those places. She also had a view of Scotty, who was watching her above the menu he was holding, but she found herself suddenly fascinated by Portofino, which clung to a steep hillside above her head.

"Have you ever been to Italy?" she found herself asking.

"Nah. I went to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls once; that's as far as I've got."

She smiled. It was further than she'd ever been - at least he'd been out of the country. "Looks beautiful."

"Yeah," said Scotty, although he was looking at her and not the picture. Lilly felt a blush painting her cheeks, and, furious at herself, ducked her head to hide behind her menu. She wondered what he was doing. Had he been affected by the mistletoe as much as she had? Or had he just noticed how flustered she had been? He'd certainly been shooting looks at her the whole drive back here when he thought she hadn't been looking, and he was being almost...bold in his attention to her. Not that she cared, of course. There was nothing in it. He was just a friend, after all. Yes. The look he was giving her at the moment meant absolutely nothing whatsoever.

Or so she liked to tell herself.

They both ordered chicken sandwiches and made small talk while Abigail brought them steaming mugs of her very best coffee. While the temperature in the diner was far more comfortable than outside, it was not exactly toasty. Lilly wrapped her hands around her cup to keep warm while she listened to Scotty tell the story of his family trip to Niagara Falls, and how he'd spent all his allowance on tacky souvenirs and how his brother Mike had wanted to go over the falls in a barrel like he'd seen people do on tv and how his mother still had a family photo from the trip up on the wall in her kitchen. Lilly smiled and laughed in all the right places, but she felt a lurking jealousy rise up like the tide. She felt it every time she heard a story from someone else's happy childhood. What she wouldn't have given as a child to be part of a normal, loving family, doing normal family things like going on vacation together, to have happy stories she could relate over lunch like a regular person. All her family stories would begin with _one time when we actually had some money_ or _once when my mom had managed to stay sober for two weeks..._stories she wouldn't want to tell and others wouldn't want to hear. It had been awhile since she'd been to her mother's apartment, but she knew there wouldn't be any family photos up on her walls. She wondered if Scotty knew how lucky he was.

Their sandwiches arrived, brought by one of the waitresses who sent a flirtatious smile in Scotty's direction. He didn't seem to notice - he was watching Lilly again, much to her discomfort. She picked at her food while the talk turned to the case they were working.

"I just don't get why a grown woman who seems sane could believe for a second that the man she thinks her husband killed was Santa Claus," Scotty said through a mouthful of chicken. "I mean, she walked in the door this mornin', and I thought, okay, little high maintenance maybe but otherwise fine, maybe she's here to complain that someone ticketed her Mercedes, and she comes out with this! I heard that kinda stuff when I was in uniform, but it was from guys I found in an alleyway behind a bar on a Saturday night, not some lawyer's wife from the Main Line. I thought someone was playin' a joke."

"Me too, at first."

"I thought everyone had stopped believin' in Santa by the time they were eight. I remember the day I found out the truth. I was six."

"What happened?"

"Mike found out where my parents had stashed all our presents. Told me exactly what I was goin' to get," Scotty said, smiling. He could still see the excitement on Mike's face as he poured over the bags of gifts hidden behind old clothes on the top shelf of his parents' closet, the way Mike stood up on his toes to see better, balanced precariously on a rickety wooden chair that had belonged to his father's family and had come all the way from Cuba. The way he didn't know what would happen first; Mike would finish counting the presents or the chair would give way and bring Mike down in a crash and their mother up from the kitchen to see what the noise was. He remembered the coiled snake of nervous excitement in his stomach, how he kept his six year old hands out in front of him, an open-armed prayer, ready to try to catch Mike if the chair gave way.

"Nice," Lilly said with a smile. Disconcerting, that smile of hers. Even a little, sad smile like the one she was giving him now got him right in the stomach. It was one of the first things he'd noticed about her, and the effect it had on him hadn't lessened over time. One of her rare full smiles...well, that was _devastating_.

"It was great...until I thought to ask why Santa Claus was keepin' my presents in my parents' closet."

"Ouch."

"It was a brutal awakenin'." They both laughed. "What about you?"

She shrugged awkwardly, and her slender white hands found her mug again, wrapping themselves around its warmth. He noticed her fingers tightened around the porcelain slightly. "I don't know that I ever really believed in Santa."

"Never?"

Her smile faltered and her eyes dipped to the plate of half-eaten food before her. "My family...we weren't really into Christmas much." Her voice died; she couldn't tell him that there had rarely been money left over for gifts, and those she had been given had been handed to her like an afterthought, wrapped haphazardly in cheap paper she'd watched her mother buy at the nearby 7-11. She couldn't tell him that she and Chris usually spent Christmas night alone in their crummy apartment while her mother used the holiday as an excuse to get drunker than usual with whatever guy she was currently using as an alternative to being alone. There had been no _room_ in her childhood for belief in Santa Claus.

She couldn't tell him these things but somehow he must have been able to guess some of them, for the next second she was surprised to feel his hands envelop hers, wrapping themselves around the coffee mug she was holding. Her first instinct was to snatch her hands away; she'd never been good at accepting sympathy or pity from anyone, let alone people she worked with. But her eyes darted up to meet his, and she let her hands stay where they were - she saw no pity in his gaze, only understanding, and the embarrassed sadness she felt was washed away by a sudden feeling of warmth that flooded through her. It shocked her, the idea that a simple touch from him could make her feel so much better.

Their eyes remained locked for what felt like years but was in reality more like seconds, before they both dropped their gaze to the tabletop between them. Silence reigned; Lilly wanted to say something to thank him but couldn't find the words. They stuck in her throat and made her mute.

"Your hands are cold," Scotty said eventually, sounding a little embarrassed. No wonder; demonstrations like this were as rare for him as they were for her.

"Yeah," she said. Her eyes came back up to his briefly, trying to let him know she appreciated his gesture, and she smiled. He smiled back, and let her hands go. She found herself missing his touch.

They remained in silence for another minute, and then Lilly cleared her throat, getting the conversation back to business. "I think Helen wanting to believe Nicholas was Santa Claus might have something to do with her image."

"How's that?"

"Well, if your husband was going to jail for murder, who would you rather it was that he killed? Just some random homeless person or -"

"Someone famous."

"Mmm," she agreed.

"So she's so desperate to believe her husband killed someone her snobby friends won't look down their noses at she's got herself believin' in Santa Claus?"

Lilly nodded.

"For Helen, that makes sense," Scotty said, taking a mouthful of chicken.

They smiled at each other, finished their lunch, said goodbye to Abigail and ventured back out into the cold December air, standing closer to each other than they needed to but neither moving away from the other as they walked back to the car.

----------

Vera had drawn the short straw; while Jefferies and Miller got to saunter down to Penn General Hospital and sweet talk all the sexy nurses into checking their records for the night Santa got dead to see if John Wilson was where he said he was, he got to hustle down to the crummy records section at Central and try to find among the thousands of assaults, batteries and attempted murder records the one he was looking for. Obviously he'd pissed off the gods somehow, although it sounded like Lilly and Scotty's assignment might be slightly worse; interviewing an endless stream of Philly's forgotten, the homeless. Forgotten and forgotten to take a bath. On second thoughts, maybe the hall of records at Central wasn't so bad after all. At least dust didn't assault your olfactory system.

It had taken him a good hour and a half to heft himself over to the precinct, swap how-are-yas with the cops he knew there, sift through all the records, find the right assaulted John Doe - and thank God he wore a distinctive Santa suit or Vera would no doubt still be looking - swap let's-catch-ups with the cops he knew there on his way back to the car, and drive back to headquarters with a headache and serious caffeine withdrawal. And just to make life better, when he got to the break room he found Detective Benson adding his fourth spoonful of sugar to his twelfth cup of coffee for the day.

"Hey," said Benson in reply to Vera's nod. He offered a box of pastries while taking an enormous mouthful of jam doughnut. Sticky red filling made an escape attempt, leaping unnoticed onto his jacket. "Djou-nuth?"

Normally Vera wouldn't touch anything Benson was offering with a ten foot pole, but a doughnut was a doughnut. He picked one with chocolate icing. Diet be damned.

Benson made an enormous swallowing motion that made him look like a pelican. "I hear you're working the Santa Claus case."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Oh, a source told me," Benson said with a smug grin and a raised eyebrow. Obviously Vera was _meant_ to figure that Benson had secret informants stashed all over the PPD and nothing happened in headquarters or anywhere else without Benson knowing all about it, but Vera didn't buy it for a second. Benson got to Homicide by trying out for the Olympic kissing-ass team, not by being a superior officer. He couldn't source information on how to find the headquarters' car park, let alone the cases other detectives were working. Vera figured he knew what he knew by hanging around and eavesdropping.

"Yeah, we're workin' it."

"That was Jenkins' and my case originally," Benson said, a thoughtful expression on his face. Jenkins had been Benson's previous partner, now triple-bypassed into retirement. Rumour had it Benson had annoyed him into a heart attack.

"Oh yeah?" Vera said around a mouthful. He was making coffee as fast as humanly possible, just about spilling the drink in his effort to get away. He wasn't quite sure what it was about Benson that rubbed him and everyone else in the department the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that although he was over thirty he still looked like the high school nerd he no doubt once had been, with a cheap suit way too big for his skinny frame, a face like a starving bird's and blond hair that would never sit flat. Maybe it was the fact that he had elected himself an authority on just about anything and could be counted on to start spewing facts about subjects that had nothing to do with anything being worked on. Maybe it was just that despite being thin as a rake, totally without dress sense and with questionable personal hygiene, he still seemed to see himself as God's gift to women. Hence the mistletoe on the belt, something that Vera was trying very hard to ignore.

"Oh yeah. Did you know that the body disappeared from the morgue?"

"Come again?"

"Oh yeah," Benson said again with a gleeful expression on his face. "Two days after the murder. Damndest thing."

"Just disappeared?" This was just great. Wait til Lilly and Scotty found out. Wait til _the Wilson woman_ found out.

"Poof," Benson said. "Thin air, man. Nothing on the security cameras, no witnesses, nothing. One minute he was there in one of those little drawer things, just chillin', and the next -"

"Poof."

"Exactly."

"Huh." Vera's coffee was ready and he turned to go, then turned back. "You ever get any idea who killed him? Any suspects?"

"Nah, man. Case was dead from day one. Everyone we spoke to seemed to love the guy. Who wouldn't love a guy who stands on a street corner all day spreading holiday cheer, am I right?"

"Right." Once more Vera turned to go, then thought again. "You goin' to take that stupid mistletoe off before somebody makes you?"

"What, this?" He indicated the bunch pinned to his belt. "I've had offers, you know."

"Offers to kick the crap out of you?"

"Detective Vera, you'd be surprised to find many of the ladies find it strangely alluring."

"I'd be very surprised, yes."

"Detective Vera, you are such a _funny guy_," Benson said, waltzing out of the break room, pausing to slap Vera on the shoulder. Vera's coffee slopped onto his shoes and he gritted his teeth. "Say hello to the lovely Detective Rush for me. Tell her I saved her a doughnut."

Lil would be so pleased, Vera thought as he followed him out into the bullpen. Dead Santa Claus, vanished corpse, hysterical lawyer's wife, dozens of unwashed potential witnesses to interview, and on top of it all, Benson wanted to give her a pastry. Could her day get any better than that?

----------

The lovely Detective Rush was getting a headache. She and Scotty had arrived at Freddie's Soup Kitchen and Homeless Shelter an hour before, managing to find a parking spot within one block of the dilapidated red brick building. The House was crammed between two larger buildings in a similar state of disrepair, one a rundown and badly stocked grocery store, the other offices belonging to an accountant who, judging from the peeling paintwork and chipped door frame on his place of business, wasn't all that successful at managing his finances.

Freddie's seemed to be suffering from a chronic lack of funds. There was a crack in the glass of the front door, there so long that the plyboard tacked up to keep the drafts out had started to warp and fade from exposure. The carpets were threadbare, the paint on the hallway wall cracking and what little furniture there was was old, scuffed and battered. Still, the whole place was kept spotlessly clean and there was a fresh and slightly antiseptic smell in the air as the detectives followed Anna Taylor into the main common room, where the food was served. Anna was a Hispanic woman in her late thirties, proud of face, unflappable and firm in nature, who had flicked her eyes over the badges they'd offered and gazed piercingly at their faces before smiling and letting them in. Scotty got the feeling she was very protective of her charges, and cops and the homeless weren't exactly the best of friends. It had been the mention of Nicholas' name that had brought the smile and the welcome.

"Of course I remember Nicholas," Anna had said as she led the way down the hall. "He was a lovely man. And you think you might have new direction on his case?"

"We're lookin' into it."

Freddie's served lunch and dinner to those who couldn't afford to buy their own, and by the time Lilly and Scotty reached it there were still thirty or so men and women finishing their food at the rows of worn tables. Anna had introduced them to her husband, Freddie, and her niece, Rosa, who were in charge of the food distribution, and then to the congregation of indigents who had the wary look of those used to being moved on and abused by people with badges. Once again, the mention of Nicholas brought a dramatic change. Twenty of the people there remembered him well, and Lilly and Scotty had begun the exhausting task of finding out what they knew.

Now, an hour later, Lilly rubbed the skin between her eyes with a tired hand. This was going nowhere. Everyone remembered Nicholas alright, but nobody knew anything about him or his life before he'd shown up on the streets three weeks before his death. They all agreed he was foreign, probably European, although one woman swore he was from Ghana and looked just like that "Coffee Annie who was king of the UN". Nobody knew his real name. They all remembered he was murdered, but nobody had seen anything or had any idea who might have wanted him dead. He hadn't seemed to have had any enemies. Three people swore they'd seen him take off on a sleigh the night he was killed and the dead man found in the alleyway was a fake.

All of which was giving her a serious headache, and from what she could see of Scotty out the corner of her eye, he didn't seem much better off.

Things only started looking up when they were getting to the end of the long line of witnesses and Anna Taylor's niece Rosa, a pretty woman of twenty five or so, led another woman over to them and sat her down in a rickety chair facing them.

"This is Angie," Rosa told them with a shy smile. "Angie, tell the detectives what you just told me."

Angie was probably in her sixties, but years of living on the streets had etched decades onto her mahogany skin, and she looked anywhere up to ninety. Her short black hair stood out from her head like a scarecrow's and her eyes had dulled from years of painful life. She was thin, but was wearing so many clothes it was difficult to tell, and she stank of sweat, alcohol and dirty mattresses. She nodded warily in greeting.

"Hey, Angie," Scotty said. "You remember somethin'?"

"I guess so." They waited, but she didn't seem inclined to say anything else. They exchanged glances with Rosa, who bent down and put her hand on the older woman's arm.

"Tell them, Angie. It might be important."

"Don't rush me, girl. I's too old to be rushed." They waited another few seconds for her to speak. "I seen him, arguin'."

"You mean Nicholas?" Lilly asked.

"That's right. I seen him arguin', week afore he died."

"Who was he arguing with?"

"You rushin' me, 'Tective. Don't rush me. It was the lawyer."

Lilly and Scotty exchanged a glance. "You mean John Wilson?"

She gave them a withering glance. "If I meant John Wilson, I'da said John Wilson. I know John Wilson. He's helped me out on occasion, with the law, you know. It was th'other lawyer."

"The other lawyer?"

"What I say about rushin' me?"

"Sorry," Lilly said, feeling her headache ratchet up a notch. "Go on."

"That's alright. You young, you always in a hurry. It were John Wilson's partner. Th'other lawyer."

"Bill Reeve?"

"I don't know his name. He never interduced himself."

"Can you remember what they were arguin' about?" Scotty asked, after a pause.

"Couldn't partickerly hear, Detective. But th'other lawyer didn't seem partickerly friendly."

----------

_It was about this time of year that Angie, last name Dickson (which was about right - her no good long gone husband came from a long line of dicks) thought about moving south. Someplace warm, where it didn't snow and she didn't have to worry every year about freezing to death whenever she laid her head down to sleep. Homeless girls had enough to worry about without the extra worry of _that_, thankyou very much._

_It had been a lucrative day for Angie. This time of year people's patience might have been wearing thin - all that Christmas shopping to do; spending money on socks and knitwear for Auntie Flo instead of a new DVD player would piss anyone off - but they also sometimes got a raging case of the guilts. Cause they had the money for socks and knitwear, and people like Angie didn't have money for anything. So all day long she'd been sitting in the doorway of a closed down store and people had flung money at her, surreptitiously like they didn't want anyone else to see, take-it-and- stop-bugging me looks on their faces. _I ain't askin', _she wanted to call out after them. _I ain't askin' but I ain't sayin' no, either. _Couldn't afford to be proud when you didn't have a roof over your head._

_Now it was getting on for dinner time, and Angie had a nice little wad of ones and a sticky handful of coins to her name. Almost enough for dinner at a nice restaurant, if you could find a nice restaurant that served people who carried their entire belongings around with them in plastic bags. She decided to see what Freddie's was offering, instead. Save the nice restaurant for when she won the lottery, ha ha ha._

_Freddie's was off the main street she was standing on, hidden away in a backstreet little wider than an alleyway next to a crummy grocery store that wouldn't let Angie in the door. Like they were so classy. Her route to the soup kitchen took her past the corner where Santa Claus had based himself for the last few weeks, which was a good thing. She liked to hear him talk. Guy had interesting things to say that Angie could just about agree with. Things like the need for charity and goodwill towards all. That means you, Mister Armani Suit, Angie might add if she were inclined to interrupt Santa Claus while he was talking to the same people who threw coins at Angie's feet and passed by without looking. Santa Claus called himself Nicholas, but he didn't seem like a regular Nicholas to Angie. Just something about him._

_She was half a block away from Santa's corner, walking slowly because she didn't like to be rushed, when she saw the bright red suit standing out among the dark buildings and slush covered walkways. He was not alone, she saw. There was a Mister Armani Suit with him, no doubt getting the Christmas Spirit handed to him. Hopefully he'd come this way when he was done listening; guy who'd just been talking to Santa Claus was likely to hand out a fifty and not even notice. _

_Twenty steps away and she saw it was a Mister Armani Suit that she actually knew. He was a lawyer from an office nearby, worked with that John Wilson she'd seen talking to Santa just about every day this week. John Wilson was getting a supersized portion of Christmas Spirit, but it looked like the other lawyer wasn't buying. It looked like the other lawyer was giving Santa Claus an earful. Angie wasn't close enough to hear what was being said; there were traffic noises and the other lawyer seemed to be speaking in a low, menacing voice. It was the body language that spoke to Angie, not the words she couldn't hear. The other lawyer was way too close to Santa Claus, closer than he'd probably ever been to a homeless person in his life, with a tense, aggressive posture. He wasn't jabbing a finger in Santa's face, but Angie thought that mightn't be too far off._

_Ten steps away and Angie could hear snatches of the conversation as they blew past her in the wind. "...bothering him...getting ideas...because of you..." Santa didn't seem particularly upset by the argument, Angie thought. He seemed more sorrowful than fearful or angry. Still, if the other lawyer was inclined to get threatening, Angie was more than prepared to use her plastic bags full of her belongings on the guy._

_Five steps away, and Angie raised her voice. "This gennelman botherin' you, Santa Claus?"_

_The other lawyer turned his head, looked right through the woman standing before him, and turned back to face the homeless man. Santa also looked round and managed a smile. "No, Angie. Just a conversation. I believe we were about finished, weren't we, sir?"_

_The other lawyer looked like he was anything but finished, but didn't look inclined to get into it in front of somebody else. He nodded. "Just...just stay away. You've done enough damage." With that, he straightened his silk tie, wrapped his coat closer around his body, and marched off in the direction of his offices, brushing past Angie like she wasn't there. Nothing new._

_"You okay, Santa Claus?"_

_"Oh yes, Angie, I thank you. It was just a conversation." He patted her hand as she continued past him, but that look of sorrow was still in his eye, and Angie could bet his eyes followed the other lawyer all the way up the street._

----------

"And that was it, Detectives. I never saw th'other lawyer with Santa again."

"And this was a week before the murder?"

"That's right."

Scotty and Lilly exchanged glances again, each noticing the little light of triumph in the eyes of the other. Finally, maybe, they were getting somewhere. "You said Mr Reeve was blaming Nicholas for somethin'?" Scotty asked. "Someone was gettin' ideas because of him?"

"That's right."

"You also said John Wilson had been talking to San-...I mean Nicholas every day that week? Could Reeve have been talkin' about him?"

"I only heard what I told you, Detectives. Coulda been talkin' about th'Easter Bunny fr'all I know."

Scotty grinned. "But it coulda been Wilson."

Angie shrugged. "Coulda been."

"Thanks, Angie. You've been real helpful."

Angie hoisted herself out of the chair she'd been sitting in. "Welcome, Detectives." She was moving off to rejoin the others when Scotty called her back and pressed a bill into her hands.

"I ain't askin', Detectives. You just catch the guy who did this, I be happy."

"You ain't askin', but you ain't sayin' no, either, right?"

Angie turned the corners of her mouth up in a smile. "Can't afford to, 'Tectives."

They watched her walk carefully and slowly off in the direction of the door. Scotty thought for a second before he emptied his wallet and handed the contents to Rosa. "Can you divide this up between the people we talked to?"

"Sure," Rosa said, eyes wide at the sight of the cash. "Thanks."

When they were alone, Lilly turned to Scotty. "So Bill might have warned Nicholas off talking to John."

"And if John was talkin' about turnin' charity worker instead of suin' people after meetin' Santa..."

"There's your motive."

----------

Please leave a review!


	4. Ding Dong Merrily on High

Tis the Season by Henabrey

Disclaimers n stuff in chapter one.

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Chapter Four: Ding Dong Merrily on High

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Wilson & Reeve, law firm, was a mere two and a half blocks away from Freddie's, but could have been in another country, so great was the difference between them. While it was by no means the largest or flashiest law firm in the city, the offices were housed in a modern, minimalist three storey building with a glass front and stainless steel sculptures dotted around the entrance lobby. The offices themselves were airy and spacious, tastefully decorated in a modern professional style perfectly suited to the building's exterior. Obviously there were a lot of people in Philadelphia who were suing their hairdressers.

The same perfectly styled blonde receptionist was behind the front desk when they walked in, and she asked them to take a seat while she tracked down her boss. She seemed particularly pleased to see Scotty, and she put an extra swing in her hips as she walked down the glass hallway in the direction of Bill Reeve's office.

"I think she likes you," Lilly stage whispered to him once the woman was out of earshot. "You should give her your phone number."

Scotty shot her a look. "Nah...she ain't my type."

"You prefer brunettes?"

"She seems a little too...plastic, you know? Like a Barbie doll or somethin'. Looks like she spends three hours a day in front of the mirror getting her lipstick right."

"And you like..."

"Less plastic, more flesh and blood. Someone with better things to do than stare at themselves all day. A real person."

"Even if they have messy hair and wear track pants all day?" Interesting, she thought. She wasn't sure if he meant what he said, if he was just saying what he thought she wanted to hear, but she'd have thought most guys wouldn't have said no to a Barbie doll lookalike. But then, Elisa had been pretty but not perfect, not by a long shot, so maybe he _was_ serious. Interesting.

"I like messy hair," he said, with a quirk of his lips.

Lilly self-consciously smoothed her own hair down. She used to wear it messy, caught up in a haphazard bunch and kept in place with a clip and a prayer. It was only in the last year or so she'd had the courage to leave it out in a blonde cascade. Was he thinking of her own messy hair of days past? Was he _flirting_ with her?

"And I like blondes," he said, fixing his gaze on her.

No mistaking that.

She could feel her mouth form a little 'o' shape and a blush creep up from her neck. She froze, not sure what to say. Where's a witty little quip when you needed one? Should she respond? Pretend to be interested? Would it _be_ pretending? Was she going mad, wondering these things about her partner? It was that damn mistletoe this morning. It had got her all flustered. And then he'd gone and touched her hands back there in the diner, and stared at her, and now he was _flirting_ with her and she didn't know what to say.

She was saved from opening her mouth by the return of the receptionist, who explained that Bill Reeve was exceptionally busy that afternoon, but since it was the PPD Homicide Division come all the way from headquarters he'd grant them a special favour. She made it sound like he was an emperor granting an audience to a lowly serf. Still, they were getting in to see him, which meant they didn't have to sit in the waiting room all afternoon making spectacles of themselves and scaring off clients, which is what Scotty had been prepared to do.

They followed the receptionist and her swinging hips up the hallway, past a couple of offices and a large room with a wooden oval shaped table and expensive looking artwork to the office of Bill Reeve, senior partner. It was glass walled on three sides and curtained off by grey blinds, much like Stillman's office back at headquarters, but there the similarity ended. Reeve's desk was large, mahogany, obviously expensive and clear of the files and papers that were stacked on their boss' desk. There were a couple of couches and a coffee table in one corner and a plasma panel was mounted on the wood-lined back wall in between two pieces of modern art. The whole room was spacious, elegantly furnished and whispered subtly of style, expense and success.

Bill Reeve was seated behind the enormous desk, and he rose to meet them as they entered. While his partner John hadn't looked like the stereotypical lawyer, Reeve very much looked the part. Well-cut suit, muted tie, suave, confident look on his handsome face. He reminded Scotty a little of an older, shorter version of that smarmy ADA Kite, something which immediately set his teeth on edge. He wasn't wild about lawyers, and Kite most definitely was not on his list of those he considered tolerable. Something to do with the fact that first he'd got close to Lilly, and then he'd made her miserable.

"Detectives Valens and Rush," he said, flashing his badge and seeing Lilly doing the same out of the corner of his eye. "We're here about a murder that was committed two years ago."

"So Natalie said," Reeve replied. "How can I help you?"

"The victim was a John Doe, also known as Nicholas," Lilly said. Reeve looked blank.

"Also known as Santa Claus?" Scotty said. "Always wore a Santa suit?"

"Ah," Reeve said. "Him."

"Oh, he remembers," Scotty said to Lilly. "Maybe you remember havin' an argument with him, week before he died."

"No."

"We have a witness saw you with him. Sounded like you were threatenin' him."

"I wasn't threatening him. It wasn't an argument. It was just a conversation."

"Conversation about what?" Lilly asked.

"Look, Detectives, I had nothing to do with his death."

"We ain't accusin' you of anythin' - yet - except havin' a conversation with the guy. What was a guy like you doin' talkin' to a homeless person?"

Reeve settled back in his chair and said nothing.

"Was it about your partner, John?" Lilly asked, shifting in her seat and leaning closer. "Because we know he'd been talking to Nicholas quite a bit that week. Did you know about that?"

"Guy wanted to change his life cause of Nicolas," Scotty said. "Thought maybe there was more to life than suin' people."

"That kind of thing would piss someone like you right off, I'll bet."

"Okay," Reeve said, rubbing his chin with one hand. "We were talking about John."

"Telling him to stay away?"

"Look, John was happy before he met this guy. We were happy. The business was going well - great, actually - we were winning cases, making a name for ourselves. Everything we'd wanted to achieve when we decided to set out on our own. And then this...this _bum_ comes along and all of a sudden John changes. Overnight. He kept talking about wanting to make a difference in the world, help people. He lost interest in the work we were doing."

"And you weren't happy about it."

"Obviously not. I told him he'd make more of a difference if he kept winning big cases and donating his fees to charity, but he was talking about hands on work."

"So you went to threaten Nicholas, tell him to mind his own business?"

"Talk. I went to _talk_ to the guy, try and tell him John was doing fine without him sticking his nose in."

"And?"

Bill shifted in his chair again. "We were interrupted. I asked him to stay away, and I left. That's it."

"Didn't feel like goin' back later on and finishing the, uh, _conversation_?"

"No. John quietened down after that. I figured the guy must have backed off."

"So it all worked out for you, huh?" Lilly asked, giving him a hard stare. "John stops talking about turning charity worker, you get to keep your business and expensive lifestyle. Lucky that guy in the Santa suit ends up dead."

"I had nothing to do with that."

"Where were you on the night he died? Would have been December nineteenth, two years ago."

"Two years is a long time, Detectives. You can't expect me to remember - "

"John Wilson tells us he was in hospital that night. Ring any bells?"

Reeve paused a second, then nodded. "If that was the night, yeah. John fell down the stairs early in the evening - I think it was just before seven. Helen phoned me from the hospital around eight fifteen to say he was going to be okay, but that they were keeping him in over night. I phoned a client at about eight thirty and was on the phone for around half an hour. I left at about nine and went straight home to my wife."

"Good memory all of a sudden."

"Your partner falling down the stairs and splitting his head open tends to stick in the mind, Detective."

"So your wife, she can verify what time you came home?" Scotty asked. Not that wives counted for much when came to alibis, of course, but it was something they could work with one way or another.

"Yes. Natalie can verify I was at work until at least eight, because that was when she left. And I'm sure you can check phone records to see that Helen phoned me here at eight fifteen and that I was on the phone to my client until nine. It takes me fifteen or twenty minutes to drive home, so that doesn't leave a whole lot of time for murdering someone."

"We'll check into it, Mr Reeve." It was too bad they didn't have a definite time of death; the nearest the medical examiner at the time could estimate was some time the evening before the body was found. And the last definite sighting of a still living Nicholas had been at eight, which left plenty of evening for the murder to be committed in.

A shadow flitted across the vertical blinds covering the glass wall of Reeve's office, and Bill raised his hand in greeting. "Jeremy! Can you come in here a minute?"

A sandy haired young man who looked fresh out of law school poked his head around the doorway. "You want to see me, Mr Reeve?"

"Yes. Jeremy Morville, my associate. Jeremy, these are Detectives Rush and Valens. They're here about a murder."

"Oh...oh yeah?" He gave them a quick, nervous glance as he entered the office. He must have been older than he looked, Scotty thought, because his boyish face and eager expression would have looked more at home on a member of the high school chess club than on a lawyer. He noticed Jeremy give Lilly the twice-over, same as every man who saw her did, before settling his gaze back onto his employer. Scotty was reminded strongly of a cocker spaniel he'd known once.

"Yes," Bill said, his best slick-lawyer expression on his face. "You remember that homeless man, the one who always wore a Santa suit, got stabbed two years ago?"

"Vaguely."

"That was the night John got taken to hospital, remember? You were here in the office until around the time I left, right? About nine?" If he were in court, he'd be accused of leading the witness, Scotty thought with an inward laugh. Objection, your honour.

"Yeah, about nine," Jeremy said. His expression, if possible, got even more eager. "Just after -"

"My conversation with Mr Suarez," Bill interrupted.

"That's right," Jeremy said, turning to Scotty and Lilly. "We left just after that. About nine. Yes. May I ask...?"

"We're just ruling Mr Reeve out of our inquiries," Lilly said with a smile. "Thankyou, Mr Morville."

Jeremy nodded, but didn't leave until Bill had nodded his permission. Once his shadow was no longer visible through the vertical blinds, Reeve leaned back in his chair and looked out the window to a view of the grey, sodden sky.. "Fine boy, Jeremy. Son of an old friend of mine."

"Oh yeah?"

"David died, oh, ten years ago now. Car accident. Jeremy had to work his way through law school the hard way, waiting tables and the like, and the day he graduated I snapped him up. Oh, he's not a flashy sort of lawyer. Never get anywhere in the big firms. But he works hard...I suppose I'm sort of a father figure to him." He glanced over at the detectives as though he'd suddenly remembered who he was talking to. "But I'm holding you up. You've got a killer to catch. And as you can see that's not me, if there's nothing else, Detectives..." he rose from his desk and held out a hand to shake. "I am very busy today." Get the hell out, in other words.

They shook quick, perfunctory handshakes and left the office. They could see Jeremy Morville seated at a desk in a nearby office, talking on the phone. His gaze followed them as they made their way towards the entrance. They were halfway up the glass lined hallway when Scotty spotted Natalie through a couple of open doorways, standing in what was obviously a break room, one that was far fancier than the one they had back at the Homicide Unit. Natalie smiled at Scotty just as Lilly's cellphone rang.

"Wait there a second, would you?" Scotty asked and made his way towards the receptionist.

So much for not liking Barbie dolls, Lilly thought as she flipped open her phone. "Rush. Hey, Vera."

She watched Scotty as she was listening to Vera speak, trying to ignore the little hot spark of jealousy she felt in her chest as she watched her partner talking to the other woman. She couldn't see Scotty's face, but Natalie seemed to be putting on her very best smile, fiddling with the necklace she was wearing, playing with her hair, and in short doing everything except a strip tease to let Scotty know she was interested. Her irritation meant she nearly missed what Vera was saying. "What? When? Okay, we'll be there soon."

She snapped her phone closed and made her way through the outer office that lead to the door of the break room. Natalie's eyes narrowed slightly when she saw her approach. "Scotty, we have to go."

"Okay. Thanks, Natalie." Scotty said, turning to face Lilly. They were standing in the doorway together, and Lilly saw Natalie's eyes narrow even further as she looked at the doorjamb above them. Lilly followed her gaze and found that, once again, she and Scotty were standing below a bunch of mistletoe, this one tied with a bright pink ribbon.

"Mistletoe," Natalie said, sounding as though she was announcing an imminent Armageddon. She crossed her arms and stared at the detectives.

Someone must have sucked all the air out of the room, Lilly thought, with a startled glance at Scotty. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. There was a whisper of amusement on her partner's face, mixed with the same deer-in-headlights expression he'd worn back at John Wilson's house. She knew she must have a similar look on her own face and fought to get herself back under control. Honestly. Was she going to act like this every time the prospect of kissing Scotty came up? She felt stupidly like a schoolgirl, the feeling not helped by the insane surge of pleasure she felt as she caught the jealous look on Natalie's face. _The case, Rush. Mind on the case_. "Sorry, we have to go."

She was away so fast that Scotty had to trot to catch up to her. "What's up?"

"Got a phone call from Vera. What happened to you not liking Barbie dolls?"

"I was confirming Reeve's alibi, Lil. It checks out, up til eight that night, anyway."

"Oh." She felt herself blush. _Jump to conclusions much, Rush? Way to go._

"What did Vera want?"

"Jefferies and Miller confirmed John was in the hospital that night. He's in the clear."

"Helen will be so glad."

"Yeah. And Vera pulled the assault record. You know they found the knife at the scene? It had fingerprints on it but there was no match in the database."

"So no luck there."

"Not quite," Lilly said. "Guess who got arrested this morning for possession?"

"You're kidding."

"He's in lockup back at headquarters right now."

"And who said miracles never happen?"

"Tis the season, Scotty."

----------

Paul Lawson was twenty, tall and sullen. He was sitting slouched in Interview Room A by the time Lilly and Scotty returned to headquarters, refusing a lawyer and loudly demanding a cigarette. He was dressed in the finest gangsta outfit a white boy from the suburbs could afford. He'd have to be careful while running, Scotty thought while watching him through the one way glass. The bling he was wearing could put an eye out.

"So he's managed to evade arrest for anythin' for two years and he finally gets nabbed the same day someone starts looking into an assault he committed?" Scotty asked, reading the report in front of him.

"Enough to make you believe in coincidences, isn't it?" Lilly said with a small smile. He could see her reflection in the glass, the expression on her face. She was intent on the man-boy sitting in the suspect's chair in front of her. Cops always got the same expression on their face when they thought the one they were after was within grasp. If Scotty had a mirror he'd see the same look on his own face. Predatory. The quarry they'd been hunting had been sighted, victory scented. Now they just needed to bring him down.

The door to the observation room opened behind them and Vera entered, coffee mug in hand. "You believe this?"

"We should all go out and buy lottery tickets," Scotty agreed.

"I'd had the file half an hour before Patterson at West gives me a call, says do I have a file on a John Doe assault from two years ago, and it's my lucky day cause the prints they just ran matched the ones they had in the system from my assault case, and do I want him? Couldn't believe it."

"Not such a lucky day for Paul Lawson," Lilly said.

"Busted for a bag of dope and winds up a suspect in a homicide? Definitely forgot the lucky underpants this morning," Vera said.

"Shall we make his day a little bit worse?" Scotty asked Lilly, indicating the door to the observation room.

"Let's," she said, and followed him into the interview room. Paul straightened up slightly when he saw them, and ran his eyes up and down Lilly's slight frame. Scotty felt a hot flare of anger in his chest and clenched his fists slightly.

"Detectives Rush and Valens," Lilly said, sitting down at the desk, opposite to Lawson. "Homicide Unit. Did someone tell you why you're here?"

"Nope."

"You're here about a murder that was committed two years ago. John Doe, always wore a Santa suit."

There was a flicker of recognition in the young man's eyes. "Didn't have nothin' to do with that."

"No?" Scotty asked. He was pacing the narrow space behind the suspect's chair; circling, like a wolf stalking prey. He held the assault record in his hands, flipped through the thin sheaf of papers. "You have anythin' to do with an assault committed on the same person, three weeks before?"

"Nope."

"Nope? Really?" Scotty dropped a photo from the crime scene onto the table in front of him. It showed the knife used in the assault, bloodstained and lying in the snow. "Cause we got fingerprints on a knife says you did."

Paul said nothing, merely shuffled in his seat and looked down at the photo. There was a slight droop in the defensive position of his shoulders that didn't escape Lilly. "Paul. You know how fingerprints work?" she asked. "You might as well just tell us."

Again the young man shuffled in his seat. He cast a quick glance up at Lilly's face, then back down to the table. "Shit," he said finally.

"Yeah, shit is right," Scotty said. "That's exactly what you're in. Neck deep."

"Tell us, Paul."

"Look, he took my bag. Wouldn't give it back, that's all."

"So you thought you'd try and persuade him with this," Scotty said, indicating the photo.

"Man, it just got outta hand! I didn't mean to cut him or nothing, it was an accident!"

"Was it an accident three weeks later, when he ended up dead?" Lilly asked.

"What? Fuck, no!"

"Oh, so you meant to kill him, then," Scotty said, walking around the table to stand behind Lilly. Paul looked up at him with a fearful expression.

"I didn't! I didn't kill him!" 

"You were interrupted, the night of the assault," Lilly said. "Another man showed up, called the cops on you."

"The lawyer, yeah."

"You didn't decide to finish the job three weeks later, this time with no one to get in your way?"

"No," Paul said, looking from Lilly to Scotty and back again. "I didn't. Didn't have any reason to."

"What, he didn't take another bag of dope from you?"

"The one he took from me the first time was the last one I ever had."

"Until this mornin', you mean," Scotty said. Paul nodded. "Hell of a long gap between joints, Paul. Two years? I'm findin' that hard to believe."

"It's true."

"Nicholas got to you, didn't he?" Lilly asked. "I heard he was pretty good at getting people clean."

Paul nodded again, with a faint look of enthusiasm on his face. "He found me a couple of days later, talked to me."

"What did he say?"

He looked blank for a second, then shrugged. "I don't remember." _It's funny. I couldn't tell you exactly what we talked about. Not word for word. It's like once you were away from him all his words just faded away like smoke. But they took root...here. Like you listened with your heart and not your ears,_ thought Lilly, tapping her pen against the table top. That's what John Wilson had told them. It looked like the same thing had happened to Paul.

"So what happened this morning?" she asked. "You've been off the stuff for two years, so what happened to get you back on it?"

Paul looked embarrassed. "My girl dumped me. Said I was a loser."

"Oh, imagine that," Scotty said. Paul looked sullenly back down at the table.

"So all of a sudden Santa Claus' words went flying right out the window?" Lilly asked. "Didn't mean anything anymore?"

"It was stupid."

"Yeah, Paul, it was stupid," Scotty said. "Cause now you're here in Homicide, prime suspect for a murder."

"I told you, I didn't have nothing to do with that."

"So you say, but I gotta tell you, it ain't lookin' good for you, Paul. Any jury in Philly's gonna think, well, he attacked him once, gotta have been him the second time, right?"

"It wasn't."

"Wasn't?" Lilly asked, studying him. He'd looked good for it, really, but she had sudden doubts. If he was telling the truth about speaking to Nicholas later on, she just couldn't see him taking a knife to him again. Not if what she'd been hearing about the homeless man was true.

"No," Paul said, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. His eyes raised themselves off the table and met Lilly's gaze. "I didn't kill him. I was sorry he died. He was a good man."

Scotty sighed. Like Lilly, he found himself believing the young man. "You got an alibi to go with that?"

"I was at my girl's place, all night, with some of our friends. Ex-girl, I mean. You can check with her," Paul said. "She ain't too happy with me; she wouldn't lie and say I was there if I wasn't."

"We'll need her details, and your friends'," Lilly said, pushing a pen and leaf on paper towards him. He bent over the page and began to write, carefully, in a large and childish script. Obviously his school years had been filled with things other than actually learning.

"Paul, if you didn't kill him, can you think of someone who might have?" Scotty asked. "Anyone you saw threatenin' him, any enemies that you know of?"

Paul shook his head, still writing. "Nah, everyone loved him. One time I saw these tourists stop and get their picture taken with him, you believe that? Fuckin' tourists."

"You didn't see anyone arguin' with him?"

"Nah...wait."

"Yeah?" Lilly and Scotty both leaned forward, listening intently.

"There was Carmel."

"Carmel who?"

"Watson. She works at the crummy grocery store next to Freddie's Soup Kitchen. You know it?"

Lilly and Scotty both nodded to show they did. "And this Carmel, she didn't like Nicholas?"

"Not her, her boyfriend. Jerry Pullman. Fuckin' arsehole."

"And he didn't like Nicholas?"

"Jerry don't know how to treat a woman. Likes to use his fists to do the talkin', if you know what I mean."

Unfortunately, yes, Lilly thought. She'd seen it all too often in her years on the force. Saw it on occasion in her own home as a child, when her mother brought a worse man than usual into the Rush household. "What does that have to do with Nicholas?"

"So who do you think talked Carmel into finally leaving the bastard?"

----------

_Not long now until Christmas; there was the annual tinge of anxiety in the air as people realised there were only a few shopping days left to buy people they didn't like crappy presents they didn't need. Not Paul Lawson. He 'acquired' a bracelet for his girl - where from? Ask no questions and you get told no lies - and that was about all the Christmas shopping he was prepared to do. That was all you needed to do, anyway, he thought. Just gifts for the ones closest to you. Never mind your fuckin' Uncle Saul or Cousin Rita you only saw twice a year._

_Now, should he get something for his parents? He pondered the question as he sauntered down the street, letting people make way for him as he walked, like he was the rock in the middle of the stream. Parents were parents, he guessed, so technically you should buy them something to say thankyou for not letting you starve to death as a child. But man, his were some fuckin' parents, more interested in each other and their precious social lives than caring what he got up to. It had been that way since he was old enough to walk home from school by himself. If it weren't for the expectations of society - and his girl, who had funny ideas sometimes - he'd be giving them the finger instead of a gift. He'd ask Hachiko what she thought when he got home._

_He spotted Carmel Watson up ahead, loitering outside the grocery store she worked in. He'd known pale, mousy Carmel Watson since grade school. You'd probably call her a friend. They didn't exactly spend a lot of time together, but he'd probably get upset if she got hit by a bus or something. She was more Hachiko's friend than his, but he cared enough about her to be bothered by her boyfriend Jerry and what he got up to when he'd had a few._

_"Yo, Car-mel!" He shouted, putting a swagger into his step. "Whassup?"_

_"Hey, Paul," Carmel said, turning around and giving him a smile. He could tell by the stiff way she moved that she was hiding a few bruises under the uniform she was wearing. "You know you're white, right? You ain't no homeboy?"_

_"Quit dissin' me, bitch." She stuck her finger up at him and he laughed. "You in uniform, girl! You'll get yourself fired!"_

_"It's worth it," she said, then got serious. "Hey, Paul...I'm leaving Jerry."_

_"What?"_

_"Yeah. Tonight."_

_He was impressed. Carmel and Jerry had been together forever, and he'd never thought she'd have got the guts to finally leave him. "Girl, I've been telling you to leave his arse for years. He's bad fuckin' shit. I finally convince you?" _

_"Yeah, well...he kind of went to town on me the other night," she said, looking down so as not to see the expression on his face. "And I got me a guardian angel. Talked me into leaving."_

_"I thought I was your guardian angel."_

_"Sure, Paul. You are," Carmel said with a smile. "But I was talking to Nicholas, and he - "_

_"The guy in the Santa suit?" Paul had been talking to him, too. Weird guy. Weird but good. Although the funny thing was, he couldn't remember what they'd talked about. All he knew was he hadn't wanted a joint since the night in the alleyway, and that suited him and Hachiko just fine._

_"Yeah, him," Carmel said. "He convinced me to get out."_

_"Well, shit. Good fuckin' day, Car-mel." He grinned at her, genuinely pleased, and she gave a wavering little smile back. It had been a long time between grins for Carmel Watson. "Hey, you need a place to stay? Cause I'm sure Hachiko wouldn't mind if -"_

_"Nah, I'm good. My sister's got a spare room she said I could have. Thanks, though."_

_"Sure." She turned to go back into the store before her boss could catch her doing nothing out on the sidewalk instead of doing nothing behind the counter of the shop, but his hand on her arm, stopped her. "Hey, Carmel," he said, bravado act put aside for a brief moment. "I'm proud of you."_

_She nodded her thanks, and he watched while she walked back inside._

----------

"So she left Jerry?" Lilly asked.

Paul nodded. "Jerry kicked up a stink somethin' bad, but for Carmel enough was enough. She walked. Never looked back, either."

"When exactly did all this happen, Paul?" Scotty asked.

A humourless grin flitted across the younger man's face. "About a week before the guy got killed."

Okay, thought Lilly. Something that was definitely worth looking into. If Jerry was the possessive type, he wouldn't have taken too kindly to the man who'd talked his punching bag into walking out the door. "Okay, we'll look into that, Paul. Thankyou."

"Hey, is there a reward? You know, if I help get a conviction?"

"Yeah," said Scotty. "For you, Paul, you get an all expenses paid trip to the finest penitentiary the state of Pennsylvania has to offer. Possession and assault."

"Shit," said Paul. "Bad fuckin' day."

----------

Please leave a review.


	5. Let It Snow

Tis the Season by Henabrey

Disclaimers etc in Chapter One

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Chapter Five: Let It Snow

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Paul Lawson was handed over to Vera for the trip back to lockup, and Lilly and Scotty made their way to the break room for some much needed caffeine. It was getting on for late afternoon; outside the clouds had stopped mucking around and were putting a bit more effort into snowing. It would be heavy enough by nightfall to make the trip home difficult, something Scotty was not looking forward to. Maybe he'd just leave the car in the parking lot, take the bus home. Let someone else worry about skidding into a building.

His mood was not improved by the conversation he'd just had with Paul. It seemed every time they looked like getting somewhere on this case it turned out to be a dead end. And everyone had an alibi. He wished he could feel hopeful about Jerry the arsehole boyfriend, but the way things were going Jerry would be able to prove he was on the other side of the country the night of the murder. He wished more and more that he'd stayed in bed after the alarm went that morning.

Of course, there was Lilly. He'd got stuck under mistletoe twice today with his beautiful, driven partner. Okay, he hated mistletoe, always had. The idea of being obliged to kiss someone just because you happened to be standing next to them at the wrong moment was stupid. But then, this morning, standing under a bunch of the stuff at John Wilson's house with a shocked and embarrassed Lilly by his side, he'd suddenly felt it wasn't such a bad thing. Not that he expected her to kiss him, or not to break his nose if he kissed her in front of a witness, but the expression on her face had been priceless. And it brought up...possibilities. There was a second there when he could have sworn she was wondering about it; whether he would, whether she wanted him to. And he swore he wasn't imagining that she hadn't seemed to hate the prospect. Interesting.

He wanted to kiss her. Badly. He wasn't blind, after all, and she was stunningly gorgeous. And the person behind the incandescent, porcelain appearance was nothing less than intriguing. She was like a parfait, to quote a talking donkey: she had layers. The more she let him see of her, the more he wanted to keep unwrapping those layers to get to the heart of her. He thought he could spend a hundred years with her and she'd still keep surprising him.

He wanted to kiss her. He'd danced around the prospect since he'd first met her and felt an instant surge of attraction towards her. She was a magnet, pulling him in. He'd denied it to himself; he'd being going through hell with Elisa, wanting to be with her and not quite able to admit to himself that he couldn't be, and he hadn't needed the extra hassle of being attracted to a fragile, ethereal, steely-souled workaholic who'd never look at him twice. Just a friend, that was it. He could be friends with a woman with eyes he could get lost in. Sure. But that morning, standing in the doorway with her, finding excuses not to lean over and drown in her lips, he realised the truth:

He wanted to kiss her. And she hadn't seemed to mind the idea of it happening.

The question was, what to do about it? He couldn't really see her wanting to pursue anything with him; there were a hundred and one reasons why she wouldn't. The fact he was her partner and relationships with co-workers led to problems was only the least of them. And there was Lilly herself...so private, so closed off, such a high wall between her work life and her private life. Surely she'd never even consider it?

And yet...he found the prospect intriguing. Alluring. He'd put out feelers afterwards, exploring the boundaries she put up to see if there were any cracks he could insinuate himself in. He'd touched her hand at the diner, getting out of the car, and later on inside when she'd looked so haunted. And no, she hadn't seemed to mind at all. He'd tried the more blatant approach in Bill Reeve's office, watched the whirlwind of surprised emotions working behind her eyes in the split second before they were interrupted, seen the delicate flush work its way over her face. She'd been confused, the way she always was when it came to emotions, but he was almost sure she'd been pleased, as well.

He glanced over at her, watching the graceful way she made her coffee. She was staring out the window as she idly circled her spoon, watching the bare branches of the tree outside flutter in the slight breeze. So pale against the light of the world beyond the glass, so lovely. Did she realise the effect she had on men? Could she feel his gaze on her, realise what it meant? As he watched, a small smile quirked the corner of her mouth and under the cool surface of her eyes was a glint of flattered amusement. She knew he was looking, and that was all the reaction she was going to let herself show. It was barely more than a twitch of her lips, yet it was the sexiest thing he thought he'd ever seen.

Oh, yes, he was definitely intrigued.

There was movement behind him, and he turned to see Stillman enter the room with a cup in his hand. The older man nodded a greeting. "Scotty, Lil."

"Boss," they said in unison.

"Where are you with this Santa Claus case?" Stillman asked, pouring himself a coffee. Lilly filled him in, glossing over Helen's Santa Claus theory. It sounded even crazier when you said it out loud, after all, and she didn't want Stillman to think she might be entertaining the idea. She ended with what Paul Lawson had told them about Carmel and her fist-happy boyfriend.

"Okay," Stillman said when she'd finished. "Worth checking, anyway. You two check with the girl, see if she told the boyfriend who gave her the idea to leave. Jefferies and Miller can visit Jerry."

Stillman took his coffee back to his office. That's what happened when you made lieutenant, Lilly thought: you got an office all to yourself, but you also got the mountains of paperwork to go with it, and lounging around the break room was a luxury you couldn't afford to take. Not unless you wanted to spend an extra hour at the end of the day catching up with your filing. Lilly had enough paperwork as it was; she thought she'd stick to the front line work and keep using the desk in the bullpen.

She saw Vera arrive back in Homicide, having handed Paul off to those in charge of the lockup. He was joined by Jefferies and Kat at the entrance door, who were evidently looking for her and Scotty. The three of them made their way over to the break room.

"There was no answer at the Reeve's house," Jefferies said in his usual measured tone. "We'll check back there later. We did find a neighbour, though, who remembered his car getting home around nine thirty, maybe a bit before. Remembers because he was saying goodnight to a friend of his who'd come over for drinks and Reeve's car nearly hit them. Seemed strangely annoyed by that. He didn't see Reeve, himself, though: he's got one of those automatic garage door openers so he can get in and out of the garage without getting out of the car."

"How'd it go?" Kat asked. "He your guy?"

Scotty shrugged. "Don't think so. Says he's got an alibi."

"They all say that."

"Yeah..." he trailed off. It was hard to explain your instincts, and his instincts were telling him Paul was being truthful about his lack of involvement. "Doesn't seem right," he finished lamely.

"He gave us a lead, though," Lilly said, flicking a glance at Scotty to show she agreed with him, and told them about Jerry. "Boss wants you to check him out."

"I love this job," Kat said. "I spend my day talking to the most wonderful people."

"Speaking of wonderful people," said Vera, "I was speaking to Benson earlier today."

"Lucky you."

"Yeah. You know this was his case, back when he was with Jenkins?"

"No wonder it never got solved," Jefferies joked.

"Yeah. Jenkins was alright, though," Vera said. "Did you also know our John Doe's body did a dear John and disappeared right out of the morgue?"

Four heads snapped round in his direction. "_What_?"

"Benson told me, and I did some checking. It vanished into thin air one night after the autopsy was performed. It was all hushed up, of course, but the morgue staff couldn't even begin to guess how it happened."

"And they never found the body?" Lilly asked, feeling the beginnings of another headache.

"Nope. Could have flown back to the North Pole for all they know."

Lilly and Scotty exchanged a glance. "Wait til Helen finds out," Scotty said, with a grin.

"You can tell her," Lilly said wearily. "And while you're at it, tell her that her husband's in the clear and that she doesn't need to hide away in New York anymore."

Scotty pulled a face. "Great. My favourite person."

"Do I need to remind you about my coffee this morning?"

Scotty made an _okay, okay_ gesture with his hands and disappeared back into the bullpen, nearly running into Benson, who was heading into the break room with an empty coffee cup in his hand.

"Detectives," he beamed. "How nice."

The others nodded strained greetings and said nothing. Benson seemed oblivious to his unpopularity and started pouring spoonfuls of sugar into his cup. Lilly could see Kat and Jefferies look at each other, asking how long they had to stay before escaping.

"How's the Santa Claus case coming along, then, Detective Rush?" Benson asked, on his third spoonful.

"It's, uh, getting there," she said, wondering how he stayed so skinny with so much sugar inside him. "We have some leads."

"Oh, that's great. That's great. You know, I was always sorry we never found the doer on this one, I really was," Benson said, oozing false sincerity all over the break room bench. "I'll be so pleased if you're able to put someone away."

"Yeah, well, we're trying," Kat said. "Speaking of leads, Jefferies and I were about to go and follow up on one."

"That's right, we were," Jefferies said, clearly relieved. "Be seeing you." Vera and Lilly watched with narrowed eyes as he followed Kat back out to the bullpen, Benson waving cheerily as they left. Lilly felt stuck. She couldn't go anywhere without Scotty, and Scotty was on the phone. She could see him through the vertical blinds, standing with the receiver to his ear and one hand pinching the skin between his eyes. She smiled. Obviously Helen had a lot to say.

Vera, having poured a coffee just before Benson had arrived, knocked it back it one gulp. "Well, gotta go. Phone calls. Alibis to check. People to talk to." Lilly had to work hard to keep the outrage she felt off her face as she watched him walk out the door. He'd left her alone with Benson. And she had no excuse to leave. And she couldn't leave without looking rude. _Bastard_.

"Say, Detective Rush, did Detective Vera tell you what happened to John Doe's body?" Benson said, taking a large swallow of his coffee. He was staring at her with what he thought was his very best seductive smile on his face, which made Lilly faintly nauseous.

"Uh, yeah," she said, subconsciously taking a small step away from him and hitting her back on the bench behind her. "Weird."

"It certainly was," Benson said with a laugh that sounded like a hyena. "Detective Jenkins was fond of saying that he must have flown back to his village."

Lilly managed a weak smile. Where the hell was Scotty? How long did it take to make a phone call?

"Have you noticed, Detective Rush, that there's mistletoe in here?" Benson said, pointing at the sprig tied above the doorway.

_Oh, God save me_. "Is there?" Why, _why_, had she made Scotty phone Helen? Why couldn't she have done it? She'd never make him buy her another coffee ever again if he could just get himself back in here before she committed violence.

"Yes, there is," Benson said. He took two steps towards her, putting himself within reaching distance. "I put it there myself."

"Did you?"

"And may I say, Detective Rush, how particularly lovely you look this afternoon?"

The hell with it. She was at the bottom of her coffee cup, and so help her God she was going to smash it over his head. They'd probably give her a medal. Her fingers tightened on the porcelain handle.

"Done." The most welcome sound in the world, the voice of her partner, reached her ears. He was standing in the doorway to the break room, a faint smirk playing about his lips, and she'd never been so glad to see him. She could kiss him...scratch that thought. "Helen's very pleased to hear her husband ain't a murderer, but she's stayin' in New York. Apparently the Christmas Spirit told her to max out the credit cards on Fifth Avenue."

"Right," said Lilly, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. Benson had the gall to look disappointed, like he thought he might have got somewhere if he hadn't been interrupted. Lilly wanted to tell him the only place he would have got was the emergency room at the nearest hospital. "Well, we better talk to Carmel Watson."

She was standing in the doorway with Scotty when Benson made a little coughing noise behind her. She turned and saw him pointing upwards at the door jamb above their heads. "Mistletoe," he said.

"Is there?" She asked. "How nice." And she pushed past her partner and made a beeline for the entrance to Homicide. Scotty caught up with her at the elevator where she was furiously pressing the down button.

"You kinda looked like you needed savin' back there," he said, offering her coat and scarf, which in her hurry she'd forgotten.

"He was more at risk than I was. He nearly got a coffee mug across the face," she smiled, taking the items he held. Their hands met as she took the scarf and she felt a jolt of electricity. What the hell was going on with her today? She was almost afraid to be alone with him - the pull she felt towards him had been growing steadily stronger throughout the day. Since the first mistletoe incident, when she'd realised that despite the embarrassment she felt and the automatic reaction to reject the idea, she'd found herself wanting to kiss him. Not something she'd ever let happen, of course, but the _wondering_, dare she call it the _wishing_, just wouldn't go away. And it didn't help that he kept touching her, flirting with her, looking in her general direction with those eyes of his...

Their elevator arrived, just in time to hide the blush she was sure was painting her cheeks. They were the only ones on board, and Scotty reached past her to press the button for the lobby. She could smell his aftershave.

"And may I say, Detective Rush, how particularly lovely you look this afternoon?" She eyed him suspiciously. There was a grin on his face as he moved back to his side of the elevator, mere inches away from her.

"Shut up, Scotty," she said, trying to sound fierce but unable to stop the laughter that bubbled up from inside her.

----------

Carmel Watson was listlessly turning the pages of a magazine when Lilly and Scotty stepped through the doorway of the poky grocery store she worked in. It was dimly lit, dusty, and the crooked shelves were sparsely laden with woebegone battered packages that looked as though they'd passed their sell-by date. It was a wonder the place was still in business, Lilly thought as she took it in. It looked as though no one had shopped there in years.

"Help you?" Carmel asked in a bored voice. She was a painfully thin, sallow faced woman with mousy brown hair done up in two short bunches. She couldn't have been more than twenty, yet her face told the detectives she had seen just about everything life had to offer, and she hadn't been too impressed by it. Her eyes were dead.

"Carmel Watson?" Lilly showed her badge and the girl nodded. "We're here about the murder of a John Doe that took place two years ago. You might have known him as Nicholas?"

There was a flicker of interest in Carmel's eyes. "My guardian angel."

"We understand he helped you out of a difficult situation," Lilly said. "With your boyfriend?"

"Jerry," Carmel agreed. "The mistake of my life."

"We've been speakin' to your friend Paul," Scotty said. "Told us Jerry wasn't afraid to let his hands do the talkin'."

"Like I said, the mistake of my life. We'd been together since we were fifteen. Took me three years and Santa Claus to work up the courage to get the hell out."

"So Nicholas convinced you to leave."

Carmel nodded. "He used to go to the soup kitchen next door, you know, and sometimes he'd come in here afterwards. I used to hide the bruises real well, but he saw straight through me." She paused, thinking. "I can't actually remember what he said to convince me."

"That seems to have been a common problem where Nicholas was concerned," Lilly told her.

"Right. All I know was, I talked to him a couple of times, and I knew I had to get out. I moved in with my sister awhile, got a restraining order. He took it badly, started calling me, threatening me. Came round here once and told me he'd cut my face off with a box cutter. It took some persuading, but he eventually gave up. Actually, I had to get my friend Carlos to help me out. Carlos is six-five and two fifty pounds of pure muscle. He boxes." She narrowed her eyes at them. "Why are you asking me questions about Jerry?"

"Like I said, we've been speakin' to Paul," Scotty said. "He seems to think Jerry might've had a motive to kill Nicholas."

"_Jerry_? No."

"Seemed to think that on account of Nicholas bein' the one to talk you into leavin' him."

"Sounds like a motive to us, too," Lilly agreed.

"No," Carmel said. "You're wrong. Paul's wrong. Jerry never even knew about Nicholas."

Lilly and Scotty looked at each other. "You're sure about that?"

"Positive. I never mentioned him."

"He couldn't have followed you around, check up on you? Seen you with him?"

"No. That's not Jerry's style. He liked the more...direct approach."

"Do you know where he was the night of December 20th, two years ago?"

Carmel shook her head, the bunches of hair waggling crazily. "We'd broken up by then. As long as he wasn't with me, I couldn't have cared less what he was doing."

They were interrupted just then by a young Asian woman with dyed blue hair, a nose ring and a very short skirt. She marched up to the counter they were standing around, pushed past Scotty without noticing him and addressed Carmel. "Did you know Paul's been arrested?"

Carmel snapped her head around to glare at the detectives. "You didn't tell me that."

"He's been arrested for an assault on Nicholas that took place three weeks before he died," Lilly said. "He's admitted it."

"Nicholas? That Santa Claus guy?" the blue haired woman said. "You think Paul had something to do with his death?"

"I'm sorry, you are..."

"Hachiko Matsumi."

"Paul's girlfriend," Scotty said, recognising the name.

"_Ex_-girlfriend. Believe me, _ex_-girlfriend."

"Right. Well, maybe you could help us clear his name. He tells us he was with you and a bunch of friends the night of the murder. December nineteenth, two years ago."

"I know the date. It was all Paul and everyone else round here could talk about after it happened. Yeah, we had some friends around, they stayed most of the night. So he couldn't have done it. And believe me, I wouldn't lie for him."

"Yeah, he told us that," Scotty said with a grin.

"Paul told them Jerry might've had something to do with it," Carmel told the other girl.

"_Jerry_? No way," Hachiko said. "He's an arsehole, but he wouldn't kill anyone. Hitting women is as far as he'd go, believe me. Doesn't have the balls to take on a man."

"Well, we'll be checking with Jerry," Lilly said.

"He'll tell you," Carmel said. "He never knew about Nicholas."

"Okay, thanks," Lilly said, motioning to Scotty that they should go. This case was giving her a serious headache. Not only did they have a victim with no identity and a disappearing corpse, but anyone they had in their sights as a possible doer turned out to have an alibi or no reason to have committed the crime. She was starting, like Scotty had earlier, to wish she'd taken a sick day.

Hachiko called them back as they reached the narrow doorway to the shop. "Hey, what's going to happen to Paul?"

"He's admitted to the assault," Lilly said. "And he was originally arrested for possession of marijuana. He's probably going to prison."

Hachiko nodded and bit her lip. She looked upset for a second, then covered it up with a layer of attitude. "Picked the right day to dump him, then, didn't I?"

----------

It was night well and truly by the time they got back to headquarters. Snow swirled down out of the neon-lit darkness, settling on the pavements and slicking the roads. Scotty decided that he was definitely taking the bus home. The hell with this weather.

Inside the Homicide unit, people were starting to head home for the evening and the place was beginning to look empty. Kat, Vera and Jefferies were sitting at their desks in the bullpen, swapping results from the afternoon's interviews. They didn't look any more enthusiastic than Lilly felt.

"Jerry says he never heard about Santa Claus," Kat said when Lilly and Scotty approached. "Not sure I believe him, but then he also says he was at a bar with about ten of his friends the night of his murder. So far the friends agree with him."

"Carmel says he never heard of him either," Scotty said.

"And Bill Reeve's wife says he got home around nine thirty," Vera said. "Which would fit with what he told you and what the neighbour saw."

"And Paul Lawson's friends all gave him alibis," Jefferies said. "He's off the hook for the murder, at least."

"Great," Lilly and Scotty said in unison. They sighed.

"So basically we're nowhere," Vera said. "Right?"

"Well, we know who didn't do it," Kat said.

"Right," Vera said. "Three hundred million people in America, and we can cross four of them off the list of suspects."

---------

They broke up for the night soon after that, after the forensics on the Santa hat from John Wilson's desk had come back and confirmed that the substance coating it was blood, and that it matched the blood type of the victim. Not that it mattered; they knew the hat had come from a previous assault and that the hat's owner couldn't have killed Nicholas.

Lilly found herself loitering outside the entrance to PPD headquarters, adjusting her scarf. It had nothing to do with the fact that she'd left before Scotty, she told herself, but when she heard his footsteps behind her she couldn't help smiling. Nor could she help saying yes when he asked her if she wanted to grab something to eat.

He knew a place, not far from Wilson & Reeve's offices or the alleyway that had seen Nicholas' last living moments. It was a little restaurant the size of a shoebox, painted green and staffed by people who barely spoke English. He'd brought Elisa here a few times, back when she'd just got out of hospital and they'd been feeling their way back to each other. Romantic atmosphere it did not have, but they did do a mean pizza.

They split a large, Lilly picking over two slices and staring in astonishment as he put away the rest of it, and made small talk that had nothing to do with the case. She seemed happy. The sorrow he'd seen over lunch was largely gone, at least from the surface of her eyes. He knew they were bottomless depths of emotion, and that pain was always lurking in them, even while they were outwardly sparkling with mirth. He wished they could always look as happy as they did at that moment.

The table they sat at was small and round, just like the head waiter who brought them their food with a beaming smile. Neither Lilly or Scotty were particularly tall people, yet they found themselves bumping knees continuously as they ate; the table was really only big enough for one, even though there were three chairs crammed around it. After the fifth time they'd connected, Scotty just let his leg lie alongside hers, touching lightly. She didn't say anything. There was a quick flash of surprise in the remarkable river of her eyes, and a faint smile played about her lips. She didn't move her leg away.

Scotty insisted on paying the bill, and they walked out into the frigid air of Center City. It had stopped snowing an hour before, and people heading home in rush hour had turned the footpaths and streets to a slippery mush. Walking the half block back to Scotty's car, they heard no less than three car horns and screeching brakes. Just because there was snow on the road didn't mean you had to slow down, apparently.

They walked close, breathing fog out before them like dragons, huddled into their coats and each other. Not as close as lovers would, but close enough to brush shoulders and for Lilly to feel some of Scotty's warmth. She'd enjoyed herself tonight; she had to admit it. He was fun to be with; he made her laugh with some of his stories and yet he was serious at the right times, too, letting her dictate the conversation or the silences. And he was a far better view to be looking at over dinner than what she was used to - whatever was on tv when she sat down.

She hated herself for it, but her mind kept coming back to the mistletoe. The prospect of kissing him, so foreign and strange that morning, was weighing on her mind. She was intrigued by the idea.

Still no intention of doing it, of course. But a girl could wonder.

He offered to drive her home, saying that he'd meant to take the bus but since it had stopped snowing he was willing to chance it. She'd taken the train that morning, and the idea of waiting on the freezing platform at the station and then finding her way home from her stop along the icy pavements wasn't an appealing one. She gratefully accepted.

Two blocks after Scotty had pulled out of his parking space, they passed the street corner Nicholas had stood on two years before, handing out advice and season's greetings to whoever stopped to listen. There was nobody there now. A street light cast a feeble glow over the rubbish and snow strewn ground. A stray dog, a brown mongrel with a torn ear, sniffed for leftovers and shelter among the detritus of society.

Just past the corner, Scotty's headlights picked out the entrance to the alleyway Nicholas had died in. Lilly found herself wanting to stop and see it for herself. It was the life a victim had lived that gave Lilly the connections she forged with them; when she could stand in their house, look at their smiling photographs, meet the people who'd meant the world to them. That was when they stopped being a name on a box and became real to her, so real she could almost see them at times. Nicholas had been a man with no roots, no home or grieving relatives left behind. The street corner he'd stood on and the alleyway he'd died in were as close a connection she'd be able to make with him, and suddenly it was important to her that she stand in the place where he'd breathed his last. She turned to Scotty.

"Would you mind -"

But he'd already slowed the car and was pulling into a parking space before she'd barely opened her mouth. She wondered why. Did he feel the same need she did? Or was he anticipating her own desire? He switched off the engine and opened the door.

The alleyway was dark, damp, and smelled of urine and wet blankets. Three feet in, and the light from the nearest streetlight was replaced with a thick wall of darkness that felt almost solid. Scotty went back to the car for a flashlight he carried in the trunk, slipping a little on the snow underfoot, leaving Lilly to breathe in the unpleasant atmosphere of this little slice of the underworld. She heard Scotty's trunk lid slam, crunching footsteps and a muffled curse as he slipped again.

"I'm movin' to Florida," he said as he approached. "Or the Bahamas. Someplace I can walk down the sidewalks without fallin' over."

His flashlight probed the dark alleyway, picking out wet brickwork, overflowing trash cans and a cardboard box that was somebody's home, filled with mouldy-looking blankets and damp newspapers. It was empty - the occupant had hopefully found somewhere warmer to spend the night. A rat slinked between the box and the trashcans, pausing to sniff the air as it sensed the two human intruders.

"So accordin' to the report, he was found somewhere over here," Scotty said, training his flashlight on a patch of wall to the left of the cardboard box. "Left hand side, twelve feet into the alleyway."

Lilly pointed at a crumbling brick in the wall, a jagged edge shaped like a shark's fin sticking out slightly from the rest of the masonry. "It was there. I recognise that brick from the crime scene photos."

There was nothing to show that this was the spot; no blood stains turned black from exposure, no remnant of police tape, no bedraggled bouquet of gas station flowers left by a mourning friend. Just a patch of brickwork in a filthy alleyway like any other in the city. Lilly and Scotty stood side by side, staring at the place lit up by the wavering light in Scotty's hand. Lilly felt a deep sorrow tear at her insides.

"I kind of wish I could have met him," she said after a few minutes of silence.

"Nicholas?"

"Yeah." She looked at the snow piled in small drifts against the alley wall, unsullied by footprints. She kicked at a pile by her shoe. "How many people have we talked to about him today? And they all say the same things about him, what a great man he was."

Scotty nodded. "You'd think a homeless person would have enough to do just survivin' in this city, but he goes around -"

"Helping people," Lilly said. "Getting people off drugs, away from abusive boyfriends, just...changing lives. Even rich, successful lawyers. He sounded...kind of remarkable." She shrugged. "I just kind of wish I'd met him."

"What would he have said to you, do you think? To get you to change your life?"

She looked sharply at Scotty, expecting to see a grin on his face and a teasing look in his eyes. There was none. He was serious. She smiled and shrugged. "What would he have said to _you_?"

He wasn't answering that, either. "I guess we'll never know."

They stood awhile longer, softly hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm, occasionally brushing up against each other. Lilly had a sense of the man who had died here; a quiet life lived under the radar, yet at every moment of at least the last three weeks of it he had touched the lives of so many others. Like most of the victims she tried to find justice for, his death had been an utter waste, and this little corner of Philly was darker and colder because of it.

They turned to go as one, carefully picking their way over the slippery ground. It had started to snow as they stood in the alleyway; fat lazy flakes that wafted their way down out of the darkness above and peppered their hair. Lilly felt an insane urge to catch them on her tongue. Well, she supposed, visiting the scene of someone's death had to bring home to you how short and precarious life could be; how most of the time you were poised on the edge of a knife without even knowing it, and that it was important to seize the little moments and really _live_. Still, she wasn't going to chase after snowflakes in front of her partner. And speaking of not letting life pass you by, she thought, glancing quickly at his mouth, there was _that_.

No. Not going to happen.

Just at the place where the streetlight's glow started to shed light on the alley, she slipped. Too busy thinking and wondering and not paying enough attention to the treacherous sidewalk, she chided herself as she felt her feet go out from under her. The next second, she crashed sideways into Scotty, nearly knocking him flying. He wobbled but managed to stay upright as his arms went out to grab her. The flashlight dropped to the ground. She found herself suddenly crushed against his body, close enough that she could feel his heartbeat hammering against her chest. His arms tightened around her as she struggled to find her feet. And all of a sudden she was within kissing distance, and he was _looking_ at her.

Time froze. She stared at him, feeling sparks of electricity arching between them, the soft wool of his coat and the hard muscles of his chest underneath her gloved hands, the furious blush that rose over her cheeks. All that thinking and wondering she'd been doing, and here she was, it could happen if she just let her gaze linger on his lips, if she just leaned forward a little...

No. No. She couldn't kiss him. He was her partner; there were a thousand reasons why it couldn't happen, and just because her heart was racing at the nearness of him and he was looking at her the way he was didn't make it right.

"You okay?" Scotty asked softly. His voice sounded thick, like he was speaking underwater, and he looked as affected by the situation as she was.

"Yeah," she said, pushing away slightly. "Yeah, thanks."

He waited until she was well and truly stable and upright before letting her go, letting his hands linger over her like he was reluctant to release her. She cleared her throat and laughed a little. "Good thing you were there."

"Yeah," he said, bending to pick up the flashlight and smiling weakly. "Good thing."

Lilly concentrated on the ground as much as she could on the way back to the mouth of the alley, where it spilled onto the street. There was a homeless man shuffling along the sidewalk, heading in the direction of Freddie's. He wore at least four coats and a ragged top hat and carried a collection of shopping bags. He stopped when he saw them, took in their dishevelled, flustered appearance and smiled lazily, revealing several missing teeth.

"Couldn't you two have sprung for a motel room?"

----------

Please leave a review.


	6. Do You Hear What I Hear?

Tis the Season by Henabrey

Disclaimers n stuff in chapter one.

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Chapter Six: Do You Hear What I Hear?

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Sleep had been slow to come for Lilly that night; it was after midnight before she finally dropped off, and her dreams were full of mistletoe. She was chased through the hallways of the PPD Headquarters by a bunch of the stuff, tied up in a blue ribbon, watched by Helen and John Wilson, who smiled solemnly at her as she ran by. Benson danced to the Spice Girls and got in her way while Carmel and Paul held snowballs in their hands and grinned nastily. Nicholas stood by the elevators and beamed at her as he told her there was more to life than walking the corridors of her workplace. She had no time to say anything to him; the mistletoe was gaining on her. It chased her to the top of the escalators leading to the headquarters' lobby, and she was about to tip over the edge and fall in a crumpled heap when she was grabbed by Scotty, who pulled her into his arms and leaned in to kiss her...

And she woke with a thudding heartbeat and the bedsheets tangled around her. The cats were nowhere in sight; her restless sleep must have chased them away to find safer sleeping spots. She looked wearily at her alarm clock - it was half an hour before it was set to go off. No point even trying to go back to sleep.

Not that she could even if she wanted to - the look that dream-Scotty had given her just before she woke up was plastered across her mind's eye in glorious technicolour. It overlapped with her memory of the night before, when he'd stopped her from slipping in the alleyway, and there was no denying that last night there had been _a moment_. She was furious with herself. She had no business having moments with her partner. No business thinking about kissing him, no business thinking about doing anything else with him, no business acknowledging the feelings she had for him...

That was what it came down to, wasn't it? She had feelings for him, long denied to herself and brought to light by the encounters with that damned mistletoe. If it had been Vera she'd got stuck with, she might have been able to give him a friendly peck and think no more of it. But not Scotty. That was the trouble - there could be no such thing as a friendly, casual kiss between them. Kissing would inevitably lead to other things, and she just couldn't let herself go there. She'd always been slow to trust and open herself up to a man, her past having taught her that it usually ended in tears. Working with someone when that finally happened would only complicate matters.

But _would_ it happen this time? a little voice inside her wondered. What if it didn't?

She needed coffee. She disentangled herself from the sheets, stretched, and padded downstairs. The house was still and quiet, the last vestiges of night outside were silent and peaceful. There was enough light from the streetlight outside for her to see where she was going and she didn't switch on any lights until she got to the kitchen.

The sudden flood of light woke the cats, who threaded their way to her on velvet paws, winding their way through her legs and looking up expectantly. "Sorry, guys," Lilly told them, apologising for forcing them off her bed. "I was being assaulted by mistletoe." Three eyes blinked blankly at her. She wouldn't be forgiven until she fed them, it seemed.

While her coffee machine was working its magic she opened a tin of food for the girls and spread it evenly over two saucers. "Friends?" She would have to work on it a bit, it looked like, as they started to eat without casting a single glance in her direction. She'd kicked them off the bed, _and_ she was about to leave them alone the entire day. Maybe she should have got dogs instead. You could treat a dog like crap and they'd always come back for more.

Lilly bent down and scratched Olivia behind the ears, thinking back to her dream. It was that damned mistletoe that was the cause of all her problems. It had got her into trouble at home, and even more in trouble at work. And she didn't know what to do about it.

No, that wasn't it. She knew what she was doing - or not doing, in this case, but how to manage Scotty? It was obvious to her that she wasn't the only one getting ideas; from the simple touches of his hand yesterday to the look he gave her in the alleyway it was obvious he was thinking about it as much as she was, and while she was fairly sure he'd leave it up to her to do anything about it she wasn't sure if she should make it clear that nothing _was_ going to happen. Should she talk to him about it? No. She was never good with that kind of thing, and it would just be embarrassing. Should she try and work with the others today instead of him? He might think she was mad or...or avoiding him because she couldn't control her raging attraction to him. Which might be closer to the truth, but she didn't want him to think that. Maybe she should just ignore it. Ignore the mistletoe, ignore any looks he gave her, any touch of his hand, say no if he asked her to lunch, definitely ignore any flirting. The ultra-professional approach. Yes. She was good at that.

That decided, she was able to enjoy her coffee, drinking it standing at the kitchen counter watching the cats eat their breakfast. The drink was too hot and she blew on it as she sipped, sending ripples across its surface. Much like that stupid mistletoe had done to her life, she mused, frowning. It caused nothing but trouble.

Really, if she never saw another bunch it would be too soon.

----------

The ultra-professional approach she'd planned lasted as long as it took her to park her gun in her locker, take off her coat and walk into the break room for her second coffee of the day, where she found Scotty, who gave her a smile that melted her insides. God_damn_ it. Her first instinct was to run in the other direction, but if she did that he'd know why. She managed a faltering smile in return.

"Mornin'," Scotty said, his smile becoming broader as he took in her flustered appearance. Obviously he could see the effect he was having on her. Goddamn it again. She was going to have to speak to him about it if she couldn't control herself. He held her favourite mug in her direction. "Coffee?"

Taking it might involve touching his fingers, but she couldn't think of an excuse not to. "Thanks." And yes, he deliberately moved his fingers so they grazed hers as she reached for the drink. There was no mistaking it, and he had a _definite_ look in his eye. She sighed, feeling a blush stealing its way up her neck.

Ultra-professional. Try that again, Rush.

"So, where are we? On the case, I mean," she managed. Great start. Crap.

"Nowhere," Scotty said. "On the case." His gaze met hers, and she felt a little shiver start way down deep in her chest, but she managed to maintain a steely IRS-agent look on her face. He cleared his throat and got serious.

"Nothin' new's come in overnight. There's nothin' really to go on, here. Our suspects all got alibis, we're nowhere on figurin' out who Nicholas was before he showed up on the street corner, and there's no one left to talk to. We might be dead in the water, Lil."

She nodded and grimaced, taking a sip of coffee. She hated to admit it, but he might be right. They didn't really have anywhere to turn on the case. No new leads to follow, no suspects to go after again. She really didn't want to just leave it here, with no closure or justice for the simple man who'd done so much good in such a short time.

"I guess..."

"Maybe there just isn't anythin' anyone could discover, Lil," Scotty said. "A homeless guy is always at risk from every junkie or gangbanger or psycho who walks the streets. Doesn't have to be anyone connected with the guy. Maybe it was just some random attack, and with no witnesses or forensics, there's just nothin' we can do. It happens. It sucks, but it happens."

"Yeah," she said with a sigh, looking down at her hands. Looking down, she felt rather than saw Scotty's posture change, becoming more upright and stiff, like a cat who'd spotted a mouse.

"Or then again, maybe Camel Watson could walk in the door with some more information," he said.

"Huh?" She looked where he was looking, and saw Carmel wafting around the entrance to Homicide like a mousy ghost. Her hair was still in its two bunches, but she was wearing a plain, shapeless coat rather than the uniform she'd been in yesterday. She spotted the detectives and headed over to them.

"Hi," she said when she reached them.

"Hi, Carmel," Lilly said. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks." Carmel shifted from one foot to the other, not sure where to begin.

"You got somethin' to tell us, Carmel?"

"I'm not sure," she said, shaking her head. "I thought of something."

They waited while she shifted feet again. "About Jerry?" Scotty asked.

She shook her head. "Nuh-uh. The lawyer."

"Which lawyer?" Lilly asked, exchanging a glance with her partner.

"You know Wilson & Reeve, the law firm? It was the lawyer from there."

"John Wilson?"

"Nuh-uh. John Wilson helped me get a restraining order against Jerry when I left him. It was the other one, Reeve."

Lilly exchanged another glance with Scotty. "What about him?"

"I saw him, two, three nights before Nicholas was killed. He was talking with a woman..."

----------

_Night. Cold and lonely for a girl who had just left her boyfriend. The bruises she wore under her clothes like a hair shirt might have been painful and shameful, but having them there at least she'd known she wasn't alone, that there was someone there at night when she went home. Now it was less than a week til Christmas, and all she had to go home to was a sofa bed with bad springs in her sister's spare bedroom. The bruises faded and left nothing behind._

_Still, it had been the right thing to do, leaving Jerry. Everyone had been at her for years about it, seeing through her excuses and the careful clothes she wore like they had x-ray vision. She'd been too blind and too afraid to agree with them. Oh, but he loves me. He says he does._

_She was off work for the night, heading back to her sister's place for tv or a board game, all very safe and beige. It was snowing; big fat wet flakes that got in her eyes as she headed for the bus stop and made her hug her coat around her thin frame in a vain attempt to get warm. Maybe she'd pass by Nicholas' corner on her journey; it was out of her way but she did like to hear him talk. It had been him that had finally convinced her to leave Jerry. She wasn't sure she could thank him for it yet, even though she knew it had been the right thing to do. Maybe someday when she had her own place and a boyfriend who didn't use her for a punching bag and she could finally feel good about herself she could go up to Santa Claus and say hey, you did a good thing here. Maybe someday._

_She was a block away from work, slipping in and out of the pools of light thrown by the streetlamps, when she heard voices. Nothing new there, the place was lousy with the homeless, with people heading home from work or heading out to play. It was just that she recognised one of the voices - it was that lawyer who worked with her own lawyer, John. Reeve, that was his name. He'd looked at her like she was mud when she walked in the door of his expensive offices in her work uniform, and she would have turned and run if her lawyer, John, hadn't come out to find her. She didn't like the lawyer Reeve._

_He was standing by an expensive car that was just begging for someone to take a key to, talking to a woman she assumed was his wife, who looked as expensive as the car, all pale skin and designer clothes and gold jewellery. They were having what looked like an intense conversation._

_Carmel was far enough away and standing in enough darkness for them not to have seen her, and she stopped walking. She wasn't wild about the prospect of walking past them, getting recognised and looked down on again. She could turn back, find another way to get to her stop and not have to walk past them. She was just beginning to turn when she heard the lawyer Reeve say a name she knew._

_"...Nicholas, dressed up like he thinks he's Goddamned Santa Claus..."_

_Carmel stopped in mid-turn, straining her ears to hear more. She'd seen John talking to Nicholas more than once; in fact it had been Nicholas who'd given her John's name. But she'd never seen the lawyer Reeve talking to him. And anyone who _did_ talk to him wouldn't be likely to talk about him in that way to anyone else. Nicholas had that effect on people. She wanted to hear what the couple were saying about the man who had helped her. She crept a little closer, staying in the shadows._

_The woman was talking, low and intense and darting her eyes around like she was watching for someone. Carmel could only catch a few words of what she said. "...gone on long enough...talking about giving up the firm for God's sake..."_

_"I know," Reeve said. "He's saying the same things to me. And now fucking Santa Claus has started to send people to see him. People we don't need as clients, homeless bums like he is. Our real clients would have fits if they saw them."_

_Carmel sneaked forward a little, hiding herself in a narrow brick lined alleyway crammed in between two buildings that smelled as though someone had died in there. Pissed themselves and then died, more like. Charming, but she still wanted to hear why these two rich people were talking with such vehemence about Nicholas._

_"...need to talk to him," the woman said. "You need to make him stop."_

_"I have, Helen," Reeve said. "Him and John. Did fucking nothing." _

_"Maybe I could..."_

_Reeve reached out and laid a hand on the woman's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You could try, Helen. Maybe John would listen to you more than me."_

_"And if he doesn't?"_

_"Then maybe it's time we tried to be more...persuasive with Nicholas."_

_Helen gave a Reeve a searching look, and as Carmel watched a small, cruel smile curved her lips. She nodded. "Persuasive, Bill?"_

_"Help him see the sense in staying the hell out of our lives."_

_That cruel smile, the look of a predator about to make a kill, remained on Helen's face. "I can do it, Bill. When it comes to my husband and my way of life, I can be _very_ persuasive."_

_----------_

"That was about it," Carmel said. "The lawyer walked off soon after that and the woman got in the car and drove off."

There was silence in the break room for a brief moment, Scotty staring at Lilly, Lilly staring at Carmel, thinking. "This was two nights before the murder?" she asked eventually.

"Two or three, yes." Carmel looked from one detective to the other. "Like I said, I wasn't sure it meant anything. I mean, I never actually saw them with Nicholas or anything, and -"

"Thanks, Carmel," Lilly said. "It might be something. We'll look into it."

Carmel nodded and turned for the doorway. "I gotta go, anyway. My boss'll kill me if I'm late again."

"Tell him you were doin' your civic duty," Scotty offered with a smile.

"That's a fireable offence for Mr Hirsch," Carmel said, echoing his smile in a small, sad kind of way. "Not that I'd care much if I wasn't working there, mind you." She made her way to the Homicide entrance way, pulling her scarf tight around her neck and adjusting the bunches of hair on her head. When she was gone, Lilly's gaze came back to Scotty.

"What do you think?"

Scotty shrugged. "Bill's got an alibi."

"He's got sort of an alibi," Lilly argued. "Wives' alibis don't mean much, and the neighbour saw his _car_, not him himself. And then there's Helen."

"We never looked at Helen," Scotty agreed.

"She had just as much of a motive as Reeve did, maybe more."

"And she lied to us. She told us she had no idea what Nicholas said to John, but she obviously knew all about it."

"Right. The way she said it, John not wanting to be a lawyer was just because of Nicholas' death, or Santa Claus' death, whatever, but she knew all along that the problems started before he was killed."

"Yeah, but why'd she bring us the case if she was the doer?" Scotty asked with a frown. "Doesn't make sense."

"I don't know," Lilly said. He was right, it didn't make sense. "But I think we need to talk to them both anyway."

"I agree with you there," said Scotty. "Helen told me yesterday she was stayin' in New York, though. You up for a trip to the Big Apple?" He wasn't hugely excited at the prospect of a long drive just so he could talk to Helen Wilson, and he wished she had come back to Philly once her husband had been cleared of the murder, but then again he _would_ get to be alone with Lilly the entire trip.

"Let's talk to Reeve, first, then Helen." Lilly wasn't looking forward to the trip either, but that was entirely due to the fact that she would be alone in a car with Scotty for hours, and that was _not _going to be good for her mental health. Goddamn mistletoe, ruining her life.

They reached the entrance to the break room, where they met Stillman heading for the coffee machine. "Scotty, Lil," he said, pausing in mid stride. "I sent Nick and Will out to check the rest of Jerry Pullman's alibis and - what is it?"

"We need to go to Manhattan," Lilly explained, and related what Carmel had told them.

Stillman nodded. "Scotty's right, makes no sense for the woman to bring you the case if she was the doer. But it's worth looking into. She obviously knows more than she's let on. What about Reeve's alibi?"

"He's clear until just before nine, then all he's got after that is his wife and his neighbour who saw his car arriving home at 9:20," Lilly said. "Not ironclad."

"Talk to him again," Stillman said. "Find out exactly what _persuasive_ meant. I'll send the others round to the wife and neighbour again, see if they can get anything else."

He went to walk round them, then looked up at the doorway above their heads. "Did you two realise you're standing under a bunch of mistletoe?"

They both looked up. Lilly sighed. Scotty smirked. "Wouldn't be the first time," he said.

"And it's getting old, fast," Lilly said in an icy tone, suddenly having no problem maintaining the ultra-professional approach. Really, four times in two days was a little annoying. It was like someone somewhere was conspiring against her, and she didn't like it. It was getting so all she could think about was kissing her partner, and trying to resist the allure was really not something she needed. "I'll be in the car."

Stillman watched her go, an amused expression on his face. "Not one for the Christmas spirit, is she?"

"Not with me, anyway," said Scotty.

----------

Bill Reeve wasn't available, Natalie explained with a falsely sorry expression and battered eyelashes when Lilly and Scotty arrived at Wilson & Reeve's offices not long afterwards.

"We're the police, Natalie," Lilly said in a cold tone. "I suggest you tell your boss to _make_ time for us."

"He's not available," Natalie said again, not even looking in Lilly's direction. "He's away on business."

"Away where?" Scotty asked.

"Atlanta," Natalie explained, with a beaming smile. "Georgia. He left yesterday afternoon and isn't expected back until tonight. I'm sorry." She didn't look remotely sorry, no doubt thinking that it meant she'd get to see Scotty again if he had to come back later.

"Right, thanks," Scotty said with a sigh. Natalie nodded and sashayed her way in the direction of the break room while Lilly and Scotty made their way slowly back to the elevator.

"Helen first, then," Scotty said. "Unless you want to drive to New York and fly to Atlanta in the same day."

"No, thanks," Lilly said. "New York's enough for me. We can speak to Reeve when he gets back tonight."

The elevator announced its arrival with a jovial ding, and the doors opened to reveal John Wilson, clearly just arriving for work with a briefcase in one hand and a scarf in the other. He looked surprised to see them.

"Detectives, how nice to see you."

"We were lookin' for your partner," Scotty explained.

"He's in Atlanta on business; he'll be back tonight," John said. "No doubt Natalie told you that already, but...wait, why are you looking for Bill?"

"His name came up in the investigation," Lilly said. "We have a few questions for him."

"Came up how?"

"I'm sorry, we can't really discuss the particulars with you."

"You don't really think he had anything to do with it, do you?"

"He had a motive, Mr Wilson," Scotty said, turning and following John as he made his way towards his office. Lilly fell into step on Wilson's other side. "Nicholas was encouragin' you to start helpin' others, leave the firm...Bill had a good reason for wantin' to see the back of him."

"Yes, but -" John gave a small laugh, like he found the idea preposterous, and shook his head. "I've known him since college. He may not have been happy at the new direction I wanted to take, but he's no killer. I'm sure of it."

They reached John's office, where he deposited his coat and scarf on a hatrack and laid the briefcase on the desk. "You may be sure, Mr Wilson," Lilly said. "But he's our best suspect." Or there's your wife, she nearly added. Got any message for her? We're about to drive to New York to interrogate her.

"Coffee?" John asked, and took off for the break room without waiting for an answer. "I appreciate the effort you're going to, Detectives," he threw over his shoulder as he walked. "But you're wrong about Bill. I know him."

Lilly had heard that a thousand times, from every wife or friend or parent of every killer she'd ever arrested. It was only natural, she supposed. You live with a person, or work closely with them for long periods of time, and you just can't believe that you couldn't have spotted their guilt, that they could have kept it hidden it from you. Or what was even harder to believe - that someone you loved was capable of such an act in the first place. She didn't point this out to John.

Natalie was in the break room when they got there, perched on the edge of a table and talking seriously with Jeremy Morville, the junior lawyer they'd met yesterday. Natalie straightened her back and tossed her hair when she saw Scotty, smiling seductively. Her actions weren't unnoticed, Lilly thought with a smile, but it was Jeremy who seemed transfixed by them. He bore all the telltale signs of a major crush. Well, Barbie dolls do it for some men, she thought, amused.

Scotty had also noticed Jeremy's reaction. The way the young man's eyes followed Natalie's every move seemed familiar somehow...and then he realised - they reminded him of himself. When he was with Lilly, he was never completely able to take his eyes off her. And looking at Natalie's behaviour, he thought Jeremy had about as much chance with her as he, Scotty, had with Lilly. Lil was trying the professional approach this morning, he'd noticed. He thought that meant that she'd acknowledged the thing between them, but her natural instincts had won out and an awkward moment under the mistletoe was as close as he was going to get to her. He sighed. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about those few seconds in the alleyway the night before, when the possibility of kissing her had never seemed so close. This morning, it seemed a million miles away. He had to acknowledge the bitter little knife of disappointment that had lodged in his chest, just as he had to acknowledge the truth about his feelings for her. It wasn't just curiosity that had him wanting to kiss her, and it wasn't just a physical attraction that had him aching for her. No, he _liked_ her. He wanted to be with her, to kiss her and to hold her hand and buy her gifts and make her laugh, and all that stuff that went with being in a relationship with someone. Truthfully, he was halfway to being in love with her without having realised it until yesterday.

And now it seemed she'd decided to keep her distance.

Curse that fucking mistletoe, anyway. Giving him ideas and dreams and then dashing them all like a porcelain cup shattered against the floor. Sorry, pal. Didn't mean to get your hopes up.

"Coffee?" John was asking, waving a cup in his direction. The detectives shook their heads and John went on pouring his own, adding cream and sugar and swirling a teaspoon through the concoction. Scotty was half sorry he'd said no - the coffee smelled rich and delicious, obviously some high-end brand rather than the no frills stuff he had to endure back at work.

"Anyway," John said, taking a sip, "I thought Bill had an alibi. I spoke to him yesterday after he saw you and he told me he could account for his whereabouts."

"Like I said, we can't discuss the particulars of the case with you," Lilly said. She noticed Natalie and Jeremy were staring at her and Scotty, concerned looks on their faces. Great. She really didn't want to have to get into it with these two.

"You think Mr Reeve had something to do with this dead Santa Claus?" Jeremy asked, sounding incredulous. "I thought you ruled him out of your inquiries."

"Look, we can't -"

"My uncle's no murderer!" Natalie said, indignant. Jeremy looked at her admiringly.

"Your uncle?"

The receptionist looked embarrassed, as though she was cursing herself for her sudden unprofessionalism. "Mr Reeve is my uncle," she explained. "And he couldn't have killed anybody." Her behaviour towards Scotty suddenly became noticeably cooler. It was all fine when they were investigating _Wilson_, Lilly thought with amusement. Now they were looking at her uncle Scotty wasn't so hot.

"I'm sure he'd appreciate your support," she said to Natalie. "But we can't talk about the case with you. I'm sorry. We have questions for your uncle in connection to our inquiries."

Natalie drew herself inwards and upwards, and looked as though she was steeling herself for a battle, but John cut her off. "Thankyou, Detectives," he said. "We'll let you get back to work. Bill will be back later tonight." He motioned for them to leave.

They got to the doorway before Jeremy spoke. "Mr Reeve didn't do it!"

They turned back. "Oh yeah? How'd you know?" Scotty asked.

The younger man flushed and looked embarrassed. He darted a look at Natalie and seemed to be struggling to speak. "Well...he just couldn't have, that's all," he said lamely. "He's no killer."

"Well, if that's true our enquiries will show that," Lilly said. "Excuse us."

"And you're under the mistletoe again," Natalie said. There was a mean little glint of malice in her eyes that did away with the manicured plastic look that Lilly had become used to. "You two seem to make a habit of it. Maybe you should investigate each other instead of bothering people with wild accusations."

Lilly gave the other woman her very best icy glare before sweeping out of the room, blood boiling. Right. Right. She'd really had it with the stupid mistletoe now. It was getting beyond annoying. She could almost swear she was being stalked by the stuff. Five time in two days, twice in the last _hour_ for Christ's sake, and other people were starting to notice. She'd seen the look on Wilson's face and heard the almost snigger that came out of Jeremy's mouth back there, and then there was Stillman, and _Benson_, and that plastic bitch Natalie, and they'd all stared at her and Scotty like a pack of wolves, waiting to see what they'd do. Would they kiss? Would she squirm her way out of it? Either way it was a great show, and Lilly did not appreciate being in the spotlight. And Scotty just seemed to find it all a good joke and a reason to turn his Latin charm in her direction. Well, she'd had enough of it.

The elevator took roughly a century to reach her floor and by the time the doors slid open Scotty had reached her side, although he'd taken one look at the set of her mouth and the rigid position of her shoulders and wisely held his tongue. They rode to the ground floor in silence.

She stalked angrily along the pavement, arms folded tight against her coat, not making way for people walking in the other direction who almost had to perform acrobatics in order to avoid her. Scotty trailed along in her wake.

Back in the car he played with the keys rather than put them in the ignition, toying with the idea of saying something to her. "I take it you've had enough of the mistletoe for one year, then," he said eventually. She was staring straight ahead, tense.

"Really," she said. "Wherever did you get that idea from?"

"If you really find me so repulsive -"

"It's not you, Scotty," she said, and he was pleased to see her deflate with a sigh and the anger and frustration on her face replaced with a slight look of amusement. Her mouth quirked. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

There was silence for a minute or two, and then she dragged her fingers through her hair. "I feel like a freak in a sideshow."

"How come?"

"You saw the looks on their faces back there! And it's not just them, it was Benson yesterday and Stillman this morning. It's like I'm there just to put on a show for them. Can the Amazing Ice Queen of Homicide resist the lure of her fiery Latin Casanova? Roll up, roll up."

"It's just a stupid plant, Lil. Just a stupid tradition. It ain't personal."

"I know." She smoothed her hair back down and managed a small smile. "I know. It's stupid."

"Fiery Latin Casanova, huh?"

"You know what I mean." He was pleased to see her smile grow wider and felt his own answering smile grow into a grin when her eyes met his shyly. He touched her hand briefly.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Are you sure you didn't mean Quasimodo, not Casanova? Cause if it's me you find so repulsive, I could always swap with Benson for the day, let him get stuck under the -" But he was cut off by her laugh and the slap of her hand on his arm.

"Shut up, Scotty."

----------

The parking gods smiled on them some hours later, after they fought their way through Manhattan's pre-Christmas traffic to the Upper East Side in search of the Carlyle. Three and a half blocks from the hotel they found a black Mercedes pulling out of a space right in front of them and Scotty dove into the vacated area. The traffic related headache he'd felt hammering behind his eyes instantly vanished and he managed a smile for the first time in forty five minutes.

"You can drive home," he said to Lilly, who looked as frazzled as he felt.

"Gee, thanks." She'd been white-knuckled the entire trip, first from the maniacs on the interstate - and Scotty's driving ten miles above the speed limit the whole journey - and then the bewildering streets of New York, populated by what felt like roughly six billion yellow cabs. Her own headache hadn't been far behind Scotty's in intensity, and she wasn't the one driving. And with her luck, she'd be battling peak hour traffic on the drive back to Philly.

Snow had refused to settle on the streets of Manhattan, turning into slush as soon as the flakes hit the ground, and the sidewalks were merely damp and depressing rather than dangerously slippery. In a few minutes they'd passed through the gold coloured entrance of the Carlyle Hotel and were standing on the highly polished black floor, conscious of every wet mark their shoes left behind as they made their way over to the small reception recess. Lilly couldn't help looking around at the opulent surroundings, feeling out of place among the expensive furniture, chandelier above her head, muted, elegant Christmas decorations and the designer-clad guests who gave her haughty glances as they bustled past. She got the feeling that it cost more to stay here for one night than she earned in an entire _week_.

One flash of their badges and the impeccably presented and polished receptionist behind the counter gave them Helen's room number, an assurance that she was in the hotel, directions to the elevator and a smile.

"I'm kinda nervous bein' here," Scotty confided in a whisper as they waited for the elevator to arrive. "I feel like every time I turn around I'm goin' to knock over a lamp or somethin' that'll turn out to be some priceless antique."

"Think you'd get away with claiming that on your expense account?"

He grinned. "I'd give Stillman a heart attack."

"_I _keep thinking they're going to realise I don't make three hundred grand a year and ask me to leave," Lilly said with a smile.

"I know exactly what you mean. I'm kinda used to the two star end of the hotel industry."

The elevator arrived smoothly and quietly and the doors slid effortlessly open. Scotty pressed the button for Helen's floor. "You know, this place is only a block from Central Park," he said.

"I know. You'd probably get views from every room." This elevator was kind of small, Lilly thought. Scotty seemed awfully close to her, and she could smell his aftershave. Her body was awake to his presence, every pore of her skin seeming to ache for him, her hand fighting her willpower, wanting to reach for him. _Curse_ that mistletoe. Now her own body was betraying her. She put her hand in her pocket.

"Great place to stay if you could avoid the antiques."

"It is beautiful," she said. "It would send me broke very quickly, though."

"Maybe a special occasion? Anniversary or somethin'. Or just a romantic weekend?"

The polished doors of the elevator meant she could see his face without turning in his direction. He was watching her intently and it confused her. Was he flirting with her again? Was he _asking_ her if she wanted to stay here with him? Yes, her traitorous body answered the unasked question, to her fury. Most definitely.

She was spared having to respond when the elevator arrived at their floor and the reflection of his face disappeared as the doors slid open, revealing an expanse of tastefully decorated hallway. The carpets were almost thick enough to sleep on. Helen's room lay to the left. They knocked, and heard the pad of feet on the other side of the door.

"Detectives," Helen said when she opened the door. "What a surprise." She was wearing a silk bathrobe, bare feet and the same jewellery she'd been wearing yesterday morning. There was a faint look of apprehension on her face.

"This a bad time?" Scotty said, peering past her into the opulent room which, sure enough, looked out over the park. "Cause we have some questions for you."

"Well, actually, I was just -"

"Helen, is that room service? Because if it is could you ask them -" A man came out of the marble bathroom and stopped, looking at Scotty and Lilly standing in the doorway.

It was Bill Reeve. Wearing a bathrobe and a guilty expression. And most definitely not on a business trip.

Scotty was the first to get over his shock. "We interruptin' something?"

----------

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Author's Note: The Carlyle is a real hotel, situated on the upper east side of Manhattan. I read about it and thought it sounded very 'Helen'. You can see some pictures at although since there weren't any pictures of their elevators (how strange!) I had to use some creative licensing when it came to the scenes taking place in them.


	7. The First Noel

Tis the Season by Henabrey

See Chapter One for disclaimers etc.

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Chapter Seven: The First Noel

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There was a long moment of silence. Somewhere a long way below them cars performed a symphony of beeping horns and sirens, muffled by the distance and closed windows. A clock ticked quietly in a corner. Bill Reeve kept flicking his gaze between the detectives and Helen, who watched the floor. Scotty could see the wheels turning in the other man's head, trying to come up with a rational explanation for why he'd be here in his partner's wife's hotel room in a bathrobe in the middle of the day. Obviously he came up blank for he remained silent, a defiant expression settling onto his face like a draped cloth.

"Fancy seeing you here, Mr Reeve," Lilly said, falsely polite tone firmly in place. "We heard you were in Atlanta."

"Catch the wrong plane?" Scotty asked.

Bill and Helen exchanged a glance. Helen's jewelled hand clutched at the neck of her robe and pulled the edges of the cloth closer together. Neither of them seemed to know what to say.

"I know what you're thinking," Helen tried.

"Really?" Scotty asked. "I think you're havin' an affair with your husband's partner. Lil, is that what you're thinkin'?"

"That's about it."

"Unless we're wrong, of course. Are we wrong?"

Helen started to speak, but Bill cut her off. "Look, it has nothing to do with anything you're investigating. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"We have some questions for Helen," Lilly said. "Actually, we have some questions for you too, so you being here is kind of convenient. May we come in?"

Helen stepped back reluctantly to let them in. The room bore a striking resemblance to the rooms they'd seen in Helen's house: expensively, elegantly furnished and flawlessly decorated. Ruffled curtains framed the view over Central Park.

"Nice room," Scotty observed. "Your husband payin' for it?"

"Just ask your questions and get out," Bill said, starting to sound angry.

Lilly asked Scotty a silent query with her eyes and got a nod for an answer. "Helen, why don't we go into the bedroom?" she suggested. "Detective Valens has some questions for Mr Reeve."

Helen glanced at Bill helplessly, then followed Lilly's outstretched hand into the bedroom, which was as sumptuous as the rest of the suite and dominated by a large, unmade bed. Scattered items of clothing littered the floor. Lilly shut the door behind them, leaving Scotty outside facing Bill over the expanse of thick carpet. Helen perched on the end of the bed in a tight coil of tense embarrassment, barely able to look Lilly in the face.

"Well, that was surprising," Lilly said, drawing a spindly chair closer to the bed. It wasn't quite the interrogation room back at headquarters, but it would have to do. "How long has that been going on?"

-----

"It's none of your concern," Bill said to Scotty. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Since before or after Santa Claus got killed? See, if it's before then that does concern me."

Bill regarded the younger man with an unreadable expression for a long, silent moment. Scotty got the feeling Reeve saw him as a small, unpleasant dog that had latched onto his ankle and wouldn't let go. Bill seemed to be making up his mind whether to coax him off or kick him. "After, if you must know," Bill said finally, sitting down on one of the sofas and trying to appear comfortable with his undressed state. "It's been a little over a year."

-----

"We didn't mean it to happen," Helen told Lilly. "We kept meeting to discuss John, and John not being happy with his work..."

"And one thing led to another," Lilly suggested.

Helen nodded. "John doesn't know. I don't know if he'd even care if he did, but he doesn't know. I'd rather it stayed that way."

"Is that why you brought us the hat?" Lilly asked. "Thinking that maybe you could get John thrown in jail and leave the way free and clear for you to be with Bill? No one would blame you for divorcing John if he was doing twenty five to life. No one would blame you for taking comfort where you could find it. You could keep your precious reputation and your lover at the same time."

Helen was shocked into stillness. Lilly got the feeling that she was seeing herself through the eyes of others for the first time - and wasn't liking what she was seeing. "No," Helen said in a faltering voice. "It's not...I don't want...that's not the way it..." she trailed off, her mouth opening and closing a few times without making a sound.

"What about Bill? Doesn't he have a wife?"

"And two children," Helen said in a whisper. Her eyes were filling with tears, and Lilly handed her a tissue from a box on the bedside table. "Thankyou. I'm not proud, believe me. It's just..."

-----

"Helen's not happy with John," Bill said to Scotty. "Hasn't been for awhile."

"So you thought you'd slide on in, take advantage."

"John's not happy with Helen," Bill said, ignoring Scotty's comment. "John's not happy with anything these days. Look, it's not like we planned it."

"What about your wife? She gave you an alibi for the night of the murder, and this is how you repay her?"

"Leave my wife out of it."

"Think that alibi'd hold if she found out where you've spent the last twenty four hours?"

Bill stared at him on outrage. "You wouldn't."

"No, maybe not, but I ain't the one who's goin' to be speakin' to her. My colleagues are doin' that right now, and you know, I got to keep them up to date with my end of the investigation..."

"Fucking bastard."

Scotty shrugged. "I take it this means you don't want to set up hotel rooms permanently with Helen? Cause I was thinkin', John bein' in jail might be convenient for you."

"How's that?"

"Well, his heart ain't in the business anymore, is it? If you could get him out of the way you'd be helpin' the firm _and_ you'd have Helen all alone, needin' comfort...this didn't go through your mind when Helen told you about the hat she found? You didn't encourage her to go to the cops?"

-----

"No, he didn't know about the hat," Helen said to Lilly, puzzled. "Not until after I took it to you, anyway. That's why he came up to New York so suddenly. He wasn't too happy."

"Why not?"

"He said I was stirring things up - that the police coming around to the firm investigating didn't look good to clients. He said -" she drew a deep breath - "he said it was a two year old murder of a homeless guy nobody cared about and that reopening the case did no good to anyone and that I should have kept my mouth shut." She regarded Lilly with a strange expression on her face. "Why?"

-----

"John might not be a hundred percent _involved_ in the firm, emotionally, but it's still his name up on the door right alongside mine," Bill said. He seemed to have forgotten what he was wearing and was concentrating on the battle of wits with Scotty. He was keeping his hands carefully by his sides rather than crossing them defensively over his chest. Body Language 101. "John going to prison would be a disaster for the firm. Especially for something like murder. You think we could live that down?"

"And Helen?"

"We have fun, that's it." There was a screech of brakes from the street below them and the wrenching sound of metal grinding on metal. Car doors slammed. Bill didn't seem to notice. "I'm not looking for anything permanent."

"So John goin' to jail...not such a good thing for you. Unless he was goin' in your place."

"What do you mean?"

-----

"Bill had a motive, Mrs Wilson," Lilly said. "Nicholas was threatening the security of the firm. John was talking about leaving, there were homeless people and God knows what turning up in the lobby scaring the paying clients. Maybe Bill thought with Nicholas out of the way things could go back to normal."

"Bill? You think _Bill_ killed Santa Claus? No." Helen shook her head emphatically, tears gone. "No."

"He was seen arguing with the victim a week before he died," Lilly said.

"Yes, he told me he'd seen him. To _talk_ to him."

"And he was seen two nights before the murder...talking with you."

"Me?"

-----

"'Maybe it's time we tried to be more persuasive with Nicholas.' Ain't that what you told Helen?"

"Who told you that?"

"Doesn't matter who. What matters is that it was said. You remember sayin' that, Bill?"

"I meant money. For Christ's sake, I meant money."

"What, you were goin' to bribe him to stay away from John?"

Bill nodded. He passed a hand wearily over his eyes, caught himself, and settled his arm back down by his side. "I went to see him two nights later and offered him ten thousand dollars if he'd get on the next train out of Philadelphia."

"And?"

"And nothing. He said he had everything he needed and wasn't going anywhere."

"What, the sidewalk and a few plastic bags were all he needed?"

"And a fucking Santa suit." Bill laughed, a sound without humour. "Turned the money down without even thinking about it."

"So you offer him ten thousand dollars to leave John alone, which he declines, and the next night he ends up dead. Sorry, Bill, it seems like a big coincidence to me."

"If you say so."

"You weren't tempted to go back the next night, get a little bit more persuasive?"

-----

"Persuasive?" Helen asked. "I...I don't know what I meant by that."

"You seem to have a selective memory when it comes to this case. You told us you had no idea what John and Nicholas talked about, and it turns out you've known all along."

Helen looked down at her hands, which were twisting and folding the tissue she'd been given, slowly shredding it. She said nothing.

"You want to search your memory and see what you can remember about the night you went to see him?"

"I didn't see him."

"Helen, you were heard talking to Bill about it. Begging him to let you talk to the man first," Lilly said. "'I can be very persuasive,' wasn't that what you said?"

"I went to see him," Helen said after a long pause. "The next night. But I never got as far as the street corner. I ran into Jeremy."

"Jeremy?"

"John's associate. He's a sweet boy. He could see I was troubled..."

----------

_She'd probably exchanged twenty words with the young man in the three years since he'd joined the firm; he'd always acted a little skittish and shy around her and she wasn't inclined to push it - he was only a junior lawyer, after all, only a couple of steps above the receptionist in the social ladder of the office building. But that cold December night he'd found her pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, blowing on her hands for warmth while she tried to talk herself into what she was about to do, and with one look his shy demeanour had fallen away and her haughty exterior shattered and she found herself talking to him, pouring all the bitterness and worry of her soul into his eager ears._

_Now they were seated in a diner, drinking coffee, not the sort of place she'd normally have set foot in in a million years but Jeremy seemed right at home. She was empty of words._

_"You think Mr Wilson will want to leave the firm?" Jeremy asked. His eyes, blue as the sea, were wide with astonishment. "I thought there was something going on these last few weeks, but I never thought..."_

_"No, me either," Helen said with a bitter smile. Was it only four years ago John and Bill had started the firm, with such hope for the future? She could see it all slipping through their fingers like sand. There goes the house...wave goodbye to the fancy cars...hope you weren't too attached to your country club membership, Helen, cause oops, there it goes...can't have a charity worker mixing it with the upper classes...or a charity worker's wife..._

_"Someone needs to talk to him," Jeremy said, taking a mouthful of coffee. _

_"I have," Helen said. "Dozens of times. He's tired of the law, he says. He says his life is empty."_

_"To the guy, then," Jeremy said. He seemed so different from the young man who skittered around the office and wouldn't look her in the eye - tonight he was firm, confident, understanding. She could finally see why Bill had wanted to hire him. "Santa Claus. Get him to change John's mind."_

_"That's where I was going tonight," Helen said, and stopped. She didn't want to see him, that was her problem. It had all seemed so easy when she was talking to Bill; see the man, impress him with her greater social standing and power, and maybe a little money, and he'd back right off. Nothing could be easier. But now the time had come to actually do it, and she was hesitating. A homeless man who stood on a street corner all day in a Santa suit wasn't normally the sort of person she sought out for a conversation, and the thought of it made her feel a little...dirty. Homeless people were best dealt with through a charitable organisation that let you help them while still keeping your hands clean. But it was more than that. She had the sudden feeling that Santa Claus wouldn't be as easy to convince as she had first thought. And she also had the feeling that she could find herself begging him to leave John alone, and the idea of standing on the streets begging a homeless man for anything was just insupportable. _

_But it was more than that too, wasn't it, Helen? Wasn't it the idea of talking to Santa Claus in particular that was putting you off? He'd changed John's view on life with just a few conversations, and John was full of stories of the other people he'd helped get off drugs or away from abusive boyfriends or off the streets. What might he say to her when she came to see him? That was it, wasn't it? She liked her life. She liked her house, and her car, and her rich friends, and the social circle she wheeled in, and everything else in her world. She wanted to keep them. And the idea that talking to Santa Claus might mean she'd lose all that and start wanting something else was what had her pacing up and down the sidewalks instead of finding the man and getting it over with._

_She explained all this to Jeremy in a slow, halting voice, a little embarrassed to be voicing her concerns. She didn't want him to think she was shallow, or afraid. But he just nodded as she spoke, and there was no hint of judgement on his face when she finished._

_"Let me talk to him, then," he said once she was silent. "I'll talk to Mr Reeve, and we can both go talk to this guy, get him to see sense."_

_"Would you?" She wasn't sure he'd be any better at it than she would, but it was worth a try if it meant she wouldn't have to go near the man._

_"Sure." He gave a surprisingly reassuring smile. _

_"He needs to be stopped, Jeremy," Helen found herself saying, pressing her manicured nails into his hands in her vehemence, leaving marks that the young man didn't seem to notice. "He's a nightmare. I don't care what has to be done; pay him off, scare him off, I don't care. He just needs to be gone."_

_Jeremy stared back at her, expressionless, before he squeezed her hands. "Don't worry, Mrs Wilson," he said. "Mr Reeve can convince anyone to do anything. And I can be pretty persuasive too when I have to be."_

----------

"And that was it," Helen said. "He went off to see Santa Claus just after that."

"Did you speak to him later, to find out how it went?"

"He phoned the next day to say that the opening gambit - that's what he called it, the opening gambit - had gone well. He'd obviously been talking to Bill, because he said that Bill was going to offer Santa money that night."

"And the night after that Nicholas was killed." She was going to have to talk to Jeremy when she and Scotty got back to Philly, find out exactly what happened the night they had their talk and what he knew about Bill offering money. She wondered what Scotty was discovering in the other room. "Did you talk to Jeremy again after that first phone call?"

"No. Santa was dead, there wasn't a need."

"So...you knew Jeremy talked to Santa" - dammit, now she was thinking of the man as Santa instead of Nicholas - "and you knew Bill was going to offer him money. It never occurred to you that they could have had anything to do with his death?"

She could see by Helen's face that it hadn't. "No," Helen stammered, wiping her eyes. "I _know_ them, Detective Rush. Both of them. They're not murderers. They - _we_ - wanted Santa out of our lives, but they'd never have resorted to murder. Never."

"You were willing to believe your husband was a murderer yesterday morning, Mrs Wilson. Why not your lover or his associate?"

"That was different," Helen said, and the corners of her mouth set in a stubborn line. "There was the hat."

"But your husband had no motive, Helen. Bill had plenty."

-----

"But no opportunity," Bill said, smug and confident. "I have an alibi."

"Yeah, your wife. Wive's alibis don't usually stand up so good." Scotty said, shooting a look at the closed bedroom door. He hoped Lil was getting on better than he was, because he was getting nowhere. Bill was about three seconds away from pulling the lawyer card.

"My neighbour saw my car arriving home."

"Your neighbour only saw your car, not you. Coulda been anybody drivin'. Think it's all goin' to stand up once we start pushin'?"

"Look, Detective. Let's get down to it," said Bill, the undercurrent of anger briefly surfacing on his face. "You've got nothing on me. A witness who saw me arguing with the man the week before he died, and another witness who saw me talking to Helen. That's it. Big fucking deal. Got anybody who actually saw me kill him? Any forensics linking me to the scene? Anything at all other than your own imagination?"

Well, actually, no. Come to think of it. It was tempting to arrest him anyway, just to wipe the smirk off his face, but Bill was right. He had no grounds for arrest, and without further proof - make that any proof - slapping the handcuffs on Bill was just going to get City Hall a large bill for damages. "We're just getting started, Mr Reeve. Give us some time."

"And when you get something, you can arrest me. I think I'll be waiting awhile, because _there's nothing to find_. I didn't kill anyone."

"You're playin' a familiar tune, Mr Reeve. I heard it a thousand times before."

"And here's another - I'm finished talking to you. If you have anything else you want to say, you can say it when I've got my attorney present."

Ah, the lawyer card.

-----

"I really don't think there's anything left to say," Helen said. "You're wrong about Bill. I'm sorry to waste your trip up here, but you are way off track if you think Bill is the killer."

"Okay, Mrs Wilson," said Lilly, with a tight smile. "Maybe you could tell me where you were the night of the murder."

"_Me_?"

"Well, you're so sure it wasn't Bill. And you had just as much motive as he did."

Helen looked genuinely shocked. Her hands fluttered in her lap, shredding tissue, and her face grew drawn and grey. "You think _I_ murdered Santa?"

"Actually, no," Lilly said with a sigh. It was true. Helen might be a little shallow, and it was strange to find a woman in her forties believing in Santa Claus, even a dead Santa Claus, but she wasn't stupid. And dredging up a long dead case by bringing a bloodied Santa hat to the cops when you were the one who did the killing would be _incredibly _stupid. "But I think you know more about this case than you like to admit. Either to me or yourself."

The other woman avoided her eyes, keeping her gaze fixed on the window where the rooftops of nearby skyscrapers could be seen. "Your partner, he told me that was the night John was in hospital."

"Yes."

"I got called around seven, seven thirty and I went straight there. I stayed there all night. You can check with the nurses, they'll tell you."

"I will," Lilly said. She paused. "Helen, is there anything else you can think of...anything at all that might help?"

Helen opened her mouth - too quickly to have actually thought about the question - but was interrupted by the bedroom door swinging open. Bill stood on the other side, breathing hard and looking annoyed. Scotty leaned over his shoulder, mouth set in a frustrated line. "Helen, you don't have to say any more," Bill said. "They're just trying to get you to pin this on me because _they've got nothing on me _and they're desperate. Don't say another word without your attorney present."

"But you're my -"

"Not another word, Helen. Detectives, it's been lovely to see you, and I'm sorry you had to drive all the way up here for nothing, but I must insist you leave now." He held the bedroom door open for Lilly, who had risen to her feet.

"Helen?" she asked gently.

"No," Helen said, shaking her head. "No, there's nothing to say."

"Okay," Lilly said. She could see Scotty give his head a tiny shake. He'd got nothing, then. "We'll be going, then."

She heard Helen give a sigh of relief and turned back to face her. The older woman was scrunched into the end of the bed as though trying to make herself smaller; her shoulders were hunched and her head was down, eyes on her hands that were still playing with the tissue, endlessly twisting and tearing it. Lilly wanted to lay her hands on top of Helen's, still their restless movement. She didn't. She could feel a shred of sympathy towards her - poor woman, her recent life must be very different from the one she was accustomed to. For someone used to an endless whirl of champagne soaked society functions, suddenly finding herself with an aid-worker wannabe for a husband and getting mixed up in a murder case must be quite a shock to the system. Still, Lilly didn't have a great deal of time for women whose hardest task for the day was deciding which pair of Manolos to put on. It made her keep her hands by her sides instead of reaching out. It made her ask one last question. "Helen, I'm just wondering why you lied to us."

Helen looked up, questioning.

"You told us when you came to see us yesterday that you had no idea what your husband and Nicholas talked about. You made it seem like you knew nothing about the man at all. And now we find you knew all about it _and _you were involved in an effort to split up their friendship. Why didn't you just tell us the truth?"

"Helen," said Bill, "you don't have to answer that if you don't -"

"I didn't _want_ to know," Helen said, and there was a sudden flash of bitter fire in her eyes. Her mouth set in a thin, spiteful line, and her sculptured, handsome features were transformed into pure ugliness. "I didn't _want _to know my husband was friends with a homeless person. I didn't _want_ to know that John wanted to change our whole lives and throw away everything he and Bill had worked for because of the words of some _freak _who lived on a _sidewalk_. I didn't want to know anything about any of it! And you want me to tell other people, _you_, that I knew all about it? You think I'd want other people thinking that I wasted a single second of my time in thinking or knowing about such a...such an _embarrassment_?" She stopped, a little out of breath from her outburst. "I'm sorry. But it was just easier for me to just pretend I didn't know anything. I didn't know you'd be digging around in our lives. I thought you'd just arrest John and..." her head went back down again, and the remains of the tissue was pressed to her eyes.

"I see," Lilly said slowly. The shred of sympathy she'd felt had been squashed like a bug on a windscreen, and the only thing she felt towards the other woman was a mild disgust. "Thankyou."

"What does it _matter_?" Bill asked suddenly as he stepped back to make room for Lilly. "For Christ's sake, what's it matter? He was just some _bum_ who got himself stabbed _two fucking years ago_ and you have to start poking around, dredging things up, disturbing things and for what? So you can find out who killed a man nobody gave a shit about? Who _cares_ who killed him?"

Lilly fixed him with her hardest stare as she stood on the threshold of the room, bristling, close enough to Bill to smell his annoyance, frustration and the deeper, earthier reek of hours-old sex. Her stomach rolled in protest. She could feel Scotty pause near her, radiating anger. She wanted to reach out and smack the expression off Reeve's face. "We care who killed him, Mr Reeve," she said. "_We_ care."

----------

The elevator couldn't come quick enough. Lilly pressed the call button six or seven times in rapid succession and then leant on it for good measure. She could feel Bill's malevolent presence in the room down the hall and she wanted to get away from him before she was tempted to go back in there and hurt him. Or arrest him.

"Good things come to those who wait," Scotty said, trying to break her tension and getting a withering glare for his trouble. There was silence for a few seconds while below them the elevator could be heard humming its way towards their floor. "Okay, he told me he went back the next night, the night before the murder, to offer him money. Ten thousand dollars."

"You believe him?"

"Don't know. Yeah, probably. Why make that up when it'd be easier to deny ever seein' the guy in the first place? Question is, did he go back the night after that to kill him?"

"He's the doer, Scotty. I know he is." She was still quietly fuming at the lawyer's callousness, at the way he'd disturbed her conversation with Helen, his last words about Nicholas. In her time as a cop, she seen more than once the gross imbalance of life and death, how the good and the innocent could be cut down in their prime and the violent, immoral and useless live long and wasteful lives. Today in Helen's hotel room she was struck again by the sheer unfairness of it all. That a good man like Nicholas seemed to have been could have died and someone like Bill Reeve could still be walking around seemed obscene.

"He pisses me off, too, Lil. But we can't arrest him for bein' a pain in the ass. We need proof."

"We'll get it," she said as the elevator arrived on their floor and the doors slid open. "Just so I can see the expression on his face when we arrest him, if for nothing else."

"It'll be a Kodak moment, that's for sure."

There was another moment of silence as the elevator smoothed its doors closed and began its journey to the lobby. The further she got from Bill Reeve, the faster Lilly's anger and frustration dissipated and she found herself thinking of something else entirely. Once again, she noticed how _small_ the elevators in this hotel were. She was right over to the left hand side of the box and her shoulders were only an inch or so from Scotty's. She felt like she was practically on top of him...oh, wrong analogy, not the thing she needed to be thinking about right now when he was so close and she could smell him...nice aftershave, that one. She wondered what it was and what it would taste like mixed with the sweat on his skin before mentally slapping herself. _Eyes and mind on the case, Rush_.

"Uh, Lil," Scotty said suddenly, and when she looked over at him he was staring upwards with a bemused expression stealing across his face. Her eyes followed his to the ceiling above their heads, where a bunch of mistletoe hung by a gaudy red and gold ribbon. She stared at it stupidly, blinking in disbelief.

"That - that wasn't there before," she said, after a second.

"Someone must have put it here while we were in with Helen and Bill."

"No, I mean it wasn't here when we got into the elevator," she said. She'd checked - after the last two days she'd found herself looking at the ceiling every time she stepped through a doorway - and she could swear it hadn't been there when they'd entered the lift.

"It must have been."

"No, I'm sure it wasn't." Oh, this was too much. Not content with making sure she and Scotty stopped under every bunch of mistletoe in Philadelphia, her little imp or pixie or whatever it was was making the stuff appear out of thin air hoping to piss her off. Well, it was working.

Scotty seemed to be struggling to stop the smirk that danced on his face as he stared at her. It was a lost cause - it turned into a full smile. "Do you ever get the feelin' the universe is conspirin' against us?"

She stared back, fed up, feeling something inside her snap. "Fine," she said. "Fine. I give up. Who am I to argue with the universe?" And she reached out, grabbed his tie, and pulled his mouth onto hers.

It was supposed to be a joke. Just a little kiss to get it out of her system so she could get back to the serious business of solving a murder. No big deal. But the second her lips touched his all thoughts of a casual peck went flying right out the proverbial window. There was just time to pull apart long enough to share a startled, half-frightened glance before her mouth found his and they were kissing again. This was...this was...no, there were no words to describe this - her mind had gone totally, deliciously blank. Her hands let go of his tie and found the back of his neck as their kiss deepened. All the reasons why this should never have happened had completely escaped her; all she was conscious of was the taste of him and the feel of his hands cupping her face, losing themselves in her hair. She'd exploded, melted, disintegrated into a thousand separate pieces; she was breathing him in and she could feel him in her blood, pulsating and roaring through her veins, and she couldn't get enough of him...

He didn't seem to be trying to fend her off either; he was kissing her back with equal passion, his hands all over her, hot and urgent, branding her skin through her clothes, his body pushing her back against the wall of the elevator and pressing itself against her, and God, she'd never been kissed like this. She'd never felt anything like this. She could keep going for decades...

They didn't separate until the elevator arrived in the lobby with a soft ding. The doors purred open, revealing a woman in her sixties waiting to enter, wearing a politically incorrect fur coat and a haughty expression. They sprang apart, breathing heavily, Lilly's shirt half untucked and seriously ruffled, Scotty's coat pulled off his shoulders. They blinked at the woman, trying to force their minds into some kind of working order.

"Well, _really!_" the woman said, sounding horrified.

"Sorry," mumbled Scotty, and he shepherded Lilly out past the woman, across the lobby floor, out of the hotel's front door and, moving like they were walking underwater, found themselves standing under the weak Manhattan sunshine, way too shocked by what had just happened to do more than breathe.

---------

End of Chapter Seven


	8. O Come All Ye Faithful

Tis the Season by Henabrey

See Chapter One for disclaimers and stuff.

----------

Chapter Eight: O Come All Ye Faithful

----------

Central Park was in the opposite direction to where they'd left their car, but by unspoken agreement Lilly and Scotty headed for the wide open space that formed the heart of the city rather than back to their parking space. Neither of them felt capable of higher thought at that particular moment, let alone able to tackle the traffic that awaited them between here and Philadelphia, and they wandered the footpaths of the park, searching for they weren't sure what, staying a safe distance from each other and avoiding eye contact. It was lunch time; the park was full of people who walked briskly to their destinations with heads tucked down into scarves and coats and kept their hands jammed into their pockets. A few hardy souls braved the slippery surfaces to run off their winter fat and there were a few homeless setting up a lunchtime home on park benches. A labrador, let off her leash by her jogging owner, gambolled in the built up snow that had settled on the lawns and sent it flying in all directions.

Lilly watched the snow fly and felt a curious kinship with it. That's what she felt like at the moment - scattered in a million different directions. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She couldn't believe she had just kissed her partner, and in an elevator of all places. She couldn't believe how badly she wanted to do it again.

Crazy, that's what she was. The strain of being ambushed by mistletoe five times in two days had got too much and her mind had snapped. Yes. That was it. All she needed to do was avoid looking at Scotty for the next two or three weeks and she'd get it out of her system. Hopefully. Because there was no way that could happen a second time, and there was no way anything _else_ could happen, either. Not with her partner.

But, my God, what a kiss.

After ten minutes of silent, aimless wandering, they came across a coffee cart stationed at a crossroads well frequented by park visitors. Scotty paid for two steaming cups with fingers barely able to fish the right money out of his pocket. Truth was, he thought he was in shock. That kiss. That _kiss_, dear God. He'd wondered, hadn't he, and thought and daydreamed about kissing his partner for four years and never once in his wildest imaginings had he dreamed it could have been so...incredible. That was the word for it. Not even his first kiss with Elisa had felt so unbelievably, stunningly, beautifully powerful. He'd felt like fireworks had exploded in his head. It was all he could do now not to close the distance between them and wrap himself in the taste of her again.

He knew better. He wasn't thinking clearly, but he could see how disturbed she was by what had just happened. He'd spent the last two days watching her reaction to the mistletoe that kept jumping out at them, and while he was fairly sure she hadn't seemed to mind the idea of kissing him (oh, she hadn't seemed to mind it at _all_ back there in the elevator) he was even more sure she'd never actually considered doing it. Which made the fact that it had happened even more shocking, and while it might be tempting to think the kiss might signal the start of something deliciously new between them, he thought it would be a good bet that she was more likely to back away from the prospect like it was an angrily hissing rattlesnake.

They instinctively found their way to a quieter footpath, away from the main thoroughfares through the park and less crowded with people. Scotty gestured at a park bench overlooking a wide expanse of snow covered lawn, and they sat side by side in silence. And older couple, nearly as wide as they were tall, strolled past hand in hand followed by a small grandchild riding a scooter. There were excited yells in the distance, where it sounded like a herd of buffalos was having a snowball fight. A jogger ran past, so wrapped up in adjusting their iPod they nearly ran into a lamp post.

Still, they sat in silence. Scotty wasn't sure what to say or how to begin, and he guessed Lilly might be having the same problem. _Holy shit_ might convey his feelings fairly adequately, he thought, although there was probably a nicer way of putting it. _That kiss was so goddamned good I can't even think straight_, maybe, _and_ _I desperately want to do it again_. Probably wouldn't go down so well, if he knew Lilly as well as he thought he did, and so he kept quiet. Eventually, after sitting and staring into space for what felt like decades, they both started talking at once.

"Well, that was -"

"It was quite -"

"Yes, exactly."

There was silence again for a few minutes, while they watched a beagle follow an invisible scent in a zig zag pattern over the ground in front of them. There was a light, chill wind and Scotty could feel the cold digging its icy fingers into his bones despite his coat and the coffee he was drinking. They were going to have to move soon if they wanted to avoid freezing to death, even if they hadn't finished their conversation. Lilly was the first to speak again, in a small, half-reluctant voice.

"It probably shouldn't happen again, Scotty."

_Damn, should have put money on it_. "No."

"This sort of thing, it leads to...complications."

"Yeah."

Scotty could feel her eyes steal their way over to him. "Do you mind?"

He glanced over at her, not sure what to say. Yes, he minded. That was the best goddamned kiss he'd ever been involved in and he wanted nothing more than to find out if it a second kiss could be as good as the first. And maybe sleeping with someone you worked with led to complications, but he didn't care about that - he'd welcome the mother of all complications if it meant he could be with Lilly. But there were other things to think about; things like Lilly herself. She'd obviously decided, just as he'd known she would, that nothing else could happen between them, and while with someone else he might have been tempted to try and push them into changing their minds, he knew Lilly was a little like a skittish horse. Push too far or too hard and she'd bolt, and he could forget about his friendship with her if that happened. He might want to be more than partners with her, but wasn't willing to risk their friendship in order to convince her it was right to take things further. He wanted to tell her the truth, but he could feel his courage slipping away like water, and he couldn't bring himself to do anything but agree with her.

"No, I don't mind. I mean, it was one hell of a...but like you said, it just complicates things, bein' with someone you work with."

"Right."

"And we work well together, and we're friends, and that means a lot to me, and it would be stupid doin' anythin' to jeopardise that."

"Yeah."

Silence again, save for an ambulance wailing plaintively somewhere in the direction of downtown and an excited yodel from the sniffing beagle, who'd spotted a squirrel. Scotty got to his feet, too cold to sit still any longer, and waited while Lilly joined him.

"Friends?" he asked, offering a hand.

She looked at him, grateful, and smiled. "Friends." She took the hand he offered and they shook, slowly and cautiously, feeling the heat from each other's fingers through their gloves. They shook once, twice, and then let go of each other like they'd been holding hot coals. Lilly's hand went back her coffee cup, Scotty's to his coat pocket. There was no more than a foot of space between them, yet suddenly it felt like a canyon.

Scotty smiled to himself. Friends, maybe, but not back to the way they had been before. Was it worth it, lying to her about what he wanted there to be between them, if they were barely able to look each other in the face? Yes, he thought. Give it time. Put some space between themselves and what had happened earlier, and things would become more comfortable. Let her rationalise it to nothing more than a moment of madness and let him forget that when her lips touched his he'd felt like he could kiss her for the rest of his life. Then they'd just be friends again, and that was what everyone wanted, right?

_Valens, you chickenshit._

----------

It was a long, silent drive back to Philadelphia. They'd missed lunch, but even the half cup of coffee she'd drunk sat uncomfortably in Lilly's stomach and at every curve of the road she negotiated the coffee seemed to somersault like it was doing a gymnastics impression. It wasn't just the coffee that was making her sick, of course: it was Scotty. More specifically, what she'd just done with Scotty. Even more specifically, it was the fact she'd just kissed Scotty and badly wanted to do it again and maybe even more than kissing and even though she'd just convinced herself that it was a bad idea pursuing a relationship with him and she'd got him to agree with her she couldn't help feeling she was making a mistake. That, she thought, would put anyone's stomach in knots.

Vera was waiting in the bullpen for them when they eventually reached headquarters. Scotty had phoned ahead and asked him to bring Jeremy in for questioning, wanting the young man away from the comfort of his office building and the support of his co-workers. He was waiting in Interview Room A, watched over by Kat and Jefferies.

"You found out who the Grinch is, yet?" Vera asked as soon as Scotty walked in the door to Homicide.

"Maybe," Lilly said, and filled him in on what they'd discovered in New York.

"So Reeve goes to offer Santa a bribe one night, gets turned down, and the next night Santa ends up dead? Big coincidence."

"That's what we thought. Where are you on Reeve's alibi?"

"Nowhere. Wife's sticking with her story and so's the neighbour. We're talking to the neighbour's friends who were with him that night and checking with everyone who works in Wilson & Reeve's office building in case they saw anything, and rechecking Reeve's other neighbours. So far nothing. If he's your guy, he was either in two places at once or he's good at getting people to lie for him."

"He's our guy," Lilly said.

"Jeremy Morville here yet?" Scotty asked.

"In A. Jefferies and Miller are babysitting him. He's not too happy to be here. Says you're just trying to use him to bring down Reeve."

"He'd be right, then," Lilly said.

Interview Room A had been built intentionally small, dark, and oppressive. It was designed to unsettle a suspect and keep them out of their comfort zone right from the outset of an interview, the thinking being that a rattled person was less likely to be able to keep their story straight. Most of the time, it worked, and Jeremy Morville was no exception. The young man had lost any air of confidence or easy going nature he'd possessed back at the office building, and Lilly and Scotty were instead confronted with someone who resembled a boy who'd been busted for breaking his mother's favourite vase. He appeared nervous, confused, and, just under the surface, a little defiant.

"Mr Morville," said Lilly, sitting down at the desk opposite to the young man and opening Nicholas' file to the crime scene photos. Jeremy's gaze flicked unwillingly in its direction and widened slightly at the upside down view of death. "Thankyou for coming in."

"Detective Vera didn't give me much choice in the matter," Jeremy said in a petulant tone.

"We just have a few questions," Scotty said, taking up his position against the wall to one side of the table.

"About the night that homeless guy got killed," Jeremy said. "Yeah, I know. You want me to tell you Mr Reeve did it."

"Did he?"

"No. He didn't. I was with him until nine and he has an alibi after that. He couldn't have done it."

"Actually, we have some questions about the night of December twentieth, two nights before the murder," Lilly said. There was a flicker of surprise in the young man's eyes.

"We've been speakin' to Helen Wilson," Scotty said.

"Told us all about your little conversation. You went to talk to Santa that night."

Jeremy said nothing.

"See, we were confused," Lilly said. "Here we were thinking this thing with Santa was just between Wilson and Reeve, and now we find out you were involved all along."

"You wanna tell us about it?" Scotty asked, arms folded.

Jeremy was still silent.

"Come on, Jeremy. We know you went to talk to the man that night. You may as well just tell us what you talked about. Did you threaten him?"

"No."

"Well?"

There was a pause, while Jeremy looked at the scuffed surface of the desk and kept his eyes firmly off the crime scene photos still on view. "It was a very civil conversation..."

----------

_He hadn't talked to Santa Claus himself, but he'd seen Mr Wilson deep in conversation with the man several times over the last three weeks. Now, leaving the diner and Mrs Wilson behind and heading out into the cold night air, he knew exactly where to find him. It was early enough in the evening for Santa to still be standing on his street corner, spreading his message to all who stopped to listen._

_Jeremy was disturbed. He'd heard rumblings of discontent from Mr Wilson the last two weeks or so, and once he'd overheard him arguing with Mr Reeve, but he'd had no idea the black sliver of unhappiness had wormed its way into the soul of the firm as far as it had. Mr Wilson wanted to leave the firm? It was unimaginable. Could the firm even survive if he left? Jeremy didn't think so - and while he might get a job at another firm easily enough the prospect didn't appeal. Wilson & Reeve was his home, and he loved every aspect of it, from the fine mahogany desks to the smallest filing cabinet in his office with the dent on one side. The idea of leaving that and going somewhere new and strange...no, he just had to convince this Santa guy to back off and leave things the way they were._

_The familiar red and white form was standing on his usual corner, talking to two homeless people who were well bundled up in what looked like seven ragged coats between them and were nodding enthusiastically at Santa's words. As Jeremy approached the group they broke apart - Nicholas' face had told the others that something was up. They melted away into the darkness and became nothing but retreating shadows as Jeremy stood in front of the man who was causing his boss so much trouble._

_"Jeremy Morville," Santa said. His accent was thick, European, but not difficult to understand. Close up, Jeremy noticed that unlike many of the homeless people he saw wandering the streets, Nicholas neither looked nor smelled unwashed. Even the Santa suit, which he seemed to wear all the time, looked fresh and clean. Jeremy wondered how he managed it - did he have a homeless shelter nearby that he frequented?_

_"How - how did you know my name?" he asked, startled._

_"I know who you are," the other man smiled._

_Jeremy struggled to regain his confidence. "Perhaps you know why I'm here, then," he said, trying to sound aggressive._

_Nicholas smiled, a little sadly. "You are here to tell me to stay away from your employer, Mr Wilson."_

_"Yes," Jeremy said. "How did you -"_

_"An easy guess," Nicholas said, still smiling that sad smile. He looked to Jeremy at that moment as though he had seen all the sorrows of the world and they weighed on his shoulders like a ton of bricks. "You have aligned yourself with your other employer, Mr Reeve."_

_"Because you're trying to -"_

_"But it is not too late for you. You still have time to choose."_

_"What to do you -"_

_"Jeremy," Nicholas said, laying a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. "I have done some good here. I have changed some people's minds and the ways in which they look at the world. I do not think I can change your mind. Only you will be able to do that."_

_"Change my mind about what?"_

_"You have two employers, Jeremy," Santa said. "You do not have to remain on Mr Reeve's side of affairs."_

_"I'm on the side of the firm, Mr...whatever your name is. I'm loyal to to the firm of Wilson & Reeve. And you coming in here and corrupting the mind of -"_

_"I corrupt the mind of no one, Jeremy, and I am not going to argue with you. I am merely going to tell you that when the time comes, you will still be able to make a choice."_

_Jeremy stared at him, perplexed. This was not exactly going according to plan. He'd expected an argument, and threats, and general unpleasantness, but instead he got this quiet, sad earnestness and a strange plea to keep his loyalties unfixed. Well, it wasn't working. "Are you going to stay away from Mr Wilson?"_

_"Jeremy, I shall do what I have to do." He smiled again. "And I think that you shall do the same. I will see you again."_

----------

"I left just after that," Jeremy said.

"Did he?" asked Lilly. "See you again?"

"No," he said, after a slight hesitation.

"That was your 'openin' gambit' as you called it," Scotty said. "You didn't go back for another round?"

"He was dead two nights later, Detective Valens. There was no time."

"You didn't see him with Bill Reeve?"

"No."

"But you talked with Reeve about him, didn't you?" Lilly asked. "You knew Bill was going to offer Nicholas money to stay away."

"Yes. I talked with Mr Reeve about the...problem...the next day. Mr Reeve went to see Santa that night. Ten thousand dollars he offered him." He laughed softly. "Must have seemed like winning the lottery."

"But Nicholas turned it down, didn't he?" Lilly asked. "That must have pissed Reeve off."

Jeremy shrugged.

"Did you talk to him about it afterwards?"

"Yeah," Jeremy said reluctantly. "He was...angry."

"I'd be angry too, Jeremy," Lilly said. "Guy like Reeve, he's used to getting his own way, ordering people about. And this homeless guy without a penny in the world turns down ten thousand of his dollars? Enough to make anyone mad."

"I guess."

"How about the night of the murder?" Scotty asked. "Bill go back to see Santa? Offer a little more cash? Or somethin' else?"

"No, he didn't. And he has an alibi, so I don't know why you keep -"

"Because we don't believe the alibi, Jeremy," Lilly said. "It's all just a little convenient."

"That doesn't make it untrue."

"Tell us about the night of the murder," Scotty said from his standing position against the wall. "You were with Reeve until nine?"

"Yes. I left just before he did."

Lilly leaned forward. "You left just before he did? How do you know what time he left, then?"

Jeremy's eyes flicked between Lilly, Scotty and the crime scene photos. "Because I caught the bus home. I was still waiting at my stop when I saw his car go past."

"That's...convenient."

-----------

Beyond the two way mirror a small collection of detectives gathered around the glass, watching the interview taking place. Kat was seated at the desk, nursing a mug of coffee, and Vera, Jefferies and Stillman were ringed around her, all intent on Jeremy Morville. They all held mugs of their own, coffee slowly going cold.

"What d'you think?" Vera asked.

"I think he knows more about Bill Reeve than he's letting on," Stillman said, and the others nodded agreement.

"Reeve is the doer? Definitely?" Kat asked.

"Lil and Scotty think so," Jefferies said. "And he looks good for it. He's got the strongest motive."

"And the dodgiest alibi," Vera added.

"Which we can't break," Kat pointed out.

Jefferies shrugged. "If he's the guy, there's a crack in his story. We'll find it."

"So Morville is covering for his employer," Stillman said. "And they say good help is hard to find."

"You're wondering why you can't get staff like that, aren't you, boss?"

Stillman chuckled. "Lil said Morville seemed to have a case of hero worship when it came to Reeve. That would explain why he's so eager to get himself into trouble for him."

"And Scotty told me he's got a thing for Reeve's niece, the receptionist," Kat said. "Maybe he's trying to impress her with his loyalty."

"Speaking of Scotty and Lil, what's up with them?" Vera asked. "They've been acting weird ever since this case began."

"Weird how?"

"Like there's this invisible barrier between them that means they have to stay two feet apart at all times, yet they keep lookin' at each other like they're...I dunno...they're acting weird is all."

"It's the mistletoe," Kat said. "Benson told me he caught them standing underneath that bunch that's in the break room."

"I caught them there this morning," Stillman said, suddenly looking interested. "Scotty said it wasn't the first time it had happened."

They all shared smiles. "Hey," said Vera, suddenly thinking of something. "They've been even weirder since they got back from New York. They can barely look at each other, and when Scotty passed her Santa's file earlier their hands touched. Lil jumped like she'd been burned. You don't think anything...?"

"Nick, this is _Lil_ we're talking about," Jefferies said.

"Yeah, you're right."

----------

They let Jeremy go after an hour. He stuck to his story, maintaining Bill Reeve's innocence and in the end accusing them of harassment and refusing to speak to them without his lawyer present. Lilly, by then fed up with what seemed like stupidly blind loyalty, told him to leave.

She and Scotty stood in the doorway of the interview room, watching him wait for the elevator. His shoulders were slumped, betraying his exhaustion, and he entered the lift without turning back to look at the detectives staring at him. He'd lost his nervous demeanour in the face of their questioning, but he'd still maintained the puzzled air of a man who'd got off at the wrong bus stop and didn't quite know where he was. _Why are you pestering me?_ his face seemed to ask. _I haven't done anything_. It had no doubt worked well in high school but here in Homicide it had little effect.

"He knows somethin'," Scotty said as the elevator doors slid shut.

"Yes, he does," Lilly said.

"And we let him walk out the door."

There seemed little to do but go back out onto the streets and re-interview anyone they thought might have been able to shed light on what had happened that night. Lilly found herself partnered with Kat as Scotty had manoeuvred his way in with Vera and Jefferies who had gone to Reeve's neighbourhood to continue their interviews. Lilly couldn't help but miss Scotty's presence - but perhaps it was best they spent some time apart. She was still rattled by what had happened back in New York and the entire time she'd been in the interview room one part of her mind had been back in that elevator in the Carlyle, and she was all too conscious of Scotty's form against the wall, near enough to her that she could smell him. One part of her mind had been dizzy with his closeness.

So in the interest of solving this case perhaps it would be best if she avoided him long enough to get over this weakness of hers. If she could just stay far enough away that her body wouldn't call out for him and her breath grow short every time he looked her way, things might be able to get back to normal. She wondered if he was maybe having the same problem, and that was why he'd gone off with the others rather than stay with her. She hadn't been blind the last two days - the last four years, a little voice inside her said - she knew he'd been interested, sending little looks her way, touching her, that moment in the alleyway; it had all added up to an obvious attraction. But maybe he had the same reasons as she did for not wanting it to lead anywhere. Maybe he'd been as shocked by the power of their kiss as she had been and wanted a little distance between them to let the dust settle.

Whatever, she told herself firmly. Whatever. She had a case to solve, and she just couldn't afford to spend the time thinking about her partner when she should be thinking of ways to break Bill Reeve's alibi.

Well, she could try not thinking about Scotty, anyway.

----------

That night passed much as the previous one had; tossing and turning, plagued by dreams of mistletoe and Scotty. Lilly found herself back in the elevator in the Carlyle, pressed up against her partner as close as she could get while their kiss deepened and his hands roamed her body. They were going further than they had in real life; in her dream, Scotty pushed her up against the wall of the elevator and she wrapped herself around him, pulling his coat and jacket off his shoulders and feeling her shirt join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. And then one of his hands was on her breast, thumbing her nipple through the fabric of her bra while his other hand was sliding the zip of her pants open and God, she was aching for him...

And she was awake. Heart pounding and sheets soaked in sweat, furious and aroused all at the same time. Rolling over and adjusting her pillow, she sighed. There was no way she was going to be able to go back to sleep after _that_.

Still, she managed to be late for work despite the early start she'd gotten and arrived in a flurry ten minutes after her normal starting time to find Vera, Jefferies and Kat sitting at their desks, doing paperwork. Vera tapped his watch and got a glare in return.

"Anything new?" Lilly asked, unwinding her scarf. She couldn't help glancing around for Scotty, finally seeing him in the break room, talking on the phone while stirring cream into a cup of coffee. Her stomach lurched. Goddamn it, did he just get better looking every day?

"Nup," Vera said. "I'm starting to think that maybe Reeve's alibi is holding because it's actually true."

"Kat and I are going over local businesses, seeing if anyone has security footage from two years ago that might show anything useful," Jefferies said. "But it's a long shot."

"Worth trying," Lilly said. "There's got to be something."

Scotty was suddenly at her elbow, looking awkward. "Hey."

"Hey."

There was a pause, neither one of them quite looking the other in the face. Scotty looked tired, Lilly noticed when she risked a glance at him. Had he been having the same problems with dreams that she had?

"So," he said finally, clearing his throat. "I just got a call from Anna Taylor down at the shelter, and she says she wants to see us."

"Did she say why?"

"Said she had some information."

"Okay," Lilly said. She was wondering if there was a way to get Miller to go with him instead - she just didn't fancy going anywhere alone with him right now. Not that she didn't trust him - he'd agreed that it was wrong to pursue a relationship and he was a grown man who could keep his hands to himself.

No, it was herself she didn't trust.

She was about to suggest Scotty take Kat while she join Jefferies canvassing the local office buildings for security footage, but she took a quick look at Vera's face and changed her mind. He was watching her and Scotty with a quizzical look on his face, and she realised that their awkwardness must have been apparent to more than just the two of them. To a seasoned homicide detective like Vera, it must have been obvious that there was something straining their friendship. And if Benson or Stillman had mentioned the mistletoe...no, mustn't give Vera any reason for any further suspicion.

"Let's go," she said.

----------

"This is Kevin Morgan," Anna said a little while later when they arrived at Freddie's and were led by Rosa to the dining area. Anna was sitting at one of the scuffed tables with a man in his fifties, who may have been homeless but was nevertheless dressed impeccably in a green velvet tuxedo, a black woollen coat, only slightly scruffy, a purple scarf and a brown fur hat. He was sitting bolt upright in his plastic chair, with a proud and noble air. His ebony face was split by a blinding white grin.

"Pleased to meet you," he said in a soft, patrician voice. The detectives nodded.

"Kevin just got back to Philadelphia this morning," Anna said. "He's been travelling."

"I went all the way to California," Kevin said. "Have you ever travelled across the country by road, detectives? It has some most beautiful sights. I saw the Grand Canyon, you know."

"That's great," Lilly said, exchanging a glance with Scotty. Had they been brought here to listen to a travelogue?

"It was my friend Nicholas who inspired me to go, you know."

"So you knew Nicholas?"

"Exactly so. Not well, but I believe everyone could say that about him. But I called him a friend."

"And...it was because of Nicholas that you went to California?" Lilly asked. She felt Scotty shift impatiently beside her.

"I was born here in Philadelphia, you know," Kevin said. "And all my life I wanted to travel and see the world, but I could never bring myself to leave the city. I was afraid, I think. It takes courage and spirit, to go to places you haven't been before, to journey to the unfamiliar and explore the unexplored. Wanting to see these things doesn't make it any easier to take that first step into the unknown, where you are without a safety net and away from everything that made you safe. I always thought, what if I go and I don't like it? Or it doesn't like me? Kept me with my feet glued to the Philadelphia sidewalks all my life."

"Sure," said Lilly, thinking of her own life - not that she'd ever had trouble travelling, but being afraid of making journeys of the emotional kind she was all too familiar with. Wasn't she doing that very thing now, pushing away the prospect of a relationship with Scotty?

"My friend, Nicholas, he told me...'Kevin,' he said, 'life is very short, much too short for needless fear. You must not be afraid to reach out for what you want. It doesn't matter what other people may say to you, it doesn't matter if you fail utterly and completely. What matters is that you try. If you don't try, all you are left with is a wish that things had been different. And by then it will be too late.' That's what he told me."

"Better to have travelled and lost, than never to have travelled at all, you mean," Scotty said with a smile.

"Exactly so," Kevin said. "I was inspired. I left the city - it was two days after his murder - and I hitched all the way to Washington, DC. From there I went south, hitching, picking up work where I could get it. It's taken me two years, but I've been to thirty seven states."

"That's wonderful," Lilly said. "Do you mind my asking...?"

"What this has to do with your case?" Kevin asked. "Not at all. I got back to Philadelphia this morning and of course I had to call in and see my good friends Anna, Freddie and Rosa, who were all so good to me before I left."

Anna smiled proudly. "He sent us postcards sometimes."

"I did. Anyway, they told me that you fine people were investigating Nicholas' death, and asking questions about the lawyer, Mr Reeve."

Scotty and Lilly both sprang to attention. "You know somethin' about Reeve?"

"I saw Angie Dickson, also, and she told me what she told you. And then I saw that young Carmel from the grocery store, and she told me what you have been told already, about Mr Reeve and Mr Wilson's wife. And that brought to mind something I'd seen, the night of the murder..."

----------

_He was getting out of the city. He knew it deep down in his bones, had made up his mind even before Nicholas had stopped talking the very first time he'd met him. He'd been poised at the start of a tightrope his whole life and he felt he'd finally been pushed into stepping off into thin air. Tomorrow, the next day, he was going to stick out his thumb on the side of the on-ramp and start the adventure of his life. South, probably, to begin with. And then...well, he'd always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. _

_He was standing near Nicholas this cold December night, a little way further down the street and half hidden in shadows, watching Nicholas at work. The man was sheer brilliance, the way his cheerful demeanour never shifted, always with a friendly word and a message of hope for those who walked past. Kevin didn't know how he did it, day after day and night after night. Kevin himself was a flawlessly polite man - his mother had raised him right - but even he looked like an amateur next to the man in the Santa suit. _

_A little way down the street, walking this way, was an angry young man. Kevin had seen him several times hanging around the grocery store next to Freddie's and had an idea he had a thing going with young Carmel who worked there. He was probably the one responsible for the bruises she tried so hard to hide. Jerry, his name was. Tonight, Jerry was a man on a mission. His face was clouded like the sky before a thunderstorm and he seemed to draw the night around him like a cloak. His dark hair, eyes and coat combined with the murderous look on his face gave the impression of a demon released from the underworld to wreak death and destruction on the innocent civilians of earth._

_As he approached, Kevin could hear him muttering under his breath in a continuous stream of hate-filled obscenities and threats. From what he could gather, Jerry was upset about a restraining order. Perhaps young Carmel from the grocery store had managed to break things off between them - in which case, Kevin thought, she had hopefully left the country rather than risk contact with the fiend currently stalking the streets._

_Kevin stood back, as far into the shadows as he could, as the man walked past. He wasn't willing to risk a fight, and right now Jerry looked as though the smallest thing could send him into a towering, violent rage. Nicholas was either not so quick or not so fearful of confrontation, for he didn't move as Jerry approached and even seemed to be trying to block his way. Jerry walked right into the other man's shoulder, and Kevin braced himself for bloodshed._

_"Hey, old man, stay the fuck outta my way," Jerry said, bristling as he turned to face Nicholas. As he swung, his coat opened enough to show Kevin a glimpse of metal holstered in his belt. A knife handle, shaped like a snake's head, and no doubt joined to a blade lethal enough to take a man's hand off in one swipe. Where were the police when you needed them? Where was anyone? For half past eight in the evening the streets were eerily deserted, and it seemed Santa, Jerry and Kevin were the only people around, and Kevin did _not_ feel capable of fending off a potential knife attack._

_"Jerry," said Nicholas, still perfectly calm, "turn around. You will not find what you are looking for."_

_"The fuck you talkin' about?" _

_"You are heading to Wilson & Reeve, no? Turn around. Mr Wilson is not there. You will only find Mr Reeve, and Mr Reeve cannot help you. The knife in your belt...bad things will happen if you go there tonight. Turn around. Go home."_

_Jerry shook his head, obviously perplexed. His right hand unconsciously found the handle of the knife, gripped it tightly and for a brief second Kevin thought he was going to pull it out into the light. Then Jerry's fingers loosened their hold, his hand dropped back to his side and Kevin breathed a sigh of relief. No one was going to get stabbed here tonight, it seemed. Nicholas showed no reaction as Jerry took a step back and held his hands up in a get-away-from-me gesture. "You...how did you...just get outta my way. Get the fuck away from me," he said, pushing past Nicholas and striding up the street in the direction of the lawyers' offices._

_Kevin felt his heart rate slowly returning to normal as he watched the man go. "What was that about?"_

_Nicholas turned to face him, suddenly looking as old and tired as anybody Kevin had ever seen. Methuselah himself couldn't have looked so worn out. "It is all in motion," Nicholas told him, and there was a note of deep sadness in his voice that was impossible to miss. "It would be best for you if you left. It is all in motion."_

_----------_

"I _did_ leave, just after that. It was cold, after all, and there was a bed waiting for me at Freddie's," Kevin said. "I wish I'd stayed, now."

What-ifs and why-didn't-Is were things cops found themselves confronted with almost every day, and there was no real answer, nothing Lilly could say that could alleviate the regret she saw on Kevin Morgan's face. "You weren't to know," she offered. "And you may have just ended up being killed yourself, as well." Kevin smiled, as if to thank her for trying.

"What time was this?" Scotty asked, leaning forward.

"Just after half past eight. Maybe twenty to nine."

"Right when Reeve was on the phone to his client," Scotty said to Lilly.

"I didn't hear anything about Jerry getting arrested, and I saw Mr Reeve walking around the next day, so I thought Jerry must have changed his mind about going there - or at least nothing seemed to have happened. I didn't tell the police - it didn't seem to me to have any connection with Nicholas' death. Then Anna said you were looking at Mr Reeve...so I thought you should know."

"This knife...you said it had a handle like a snake's head?" Scotty asked.

"Exactly so."

Scotty ruffled through the file he'd been carrying, searching the crime scene photos. He drew one out and showed it to Kevin. "Did it look like this?"

Kevin's eyes widened. One trembling hand reached out and touched the photo Scotty held up to him. "Exactly so...that is the knife I saw."

"It's the murder weapon," Scotty said, feeling the familiar knot of excitement in his stomach that came at the end of a case, right when everything fell into place. He glanced at Lilly and saw the same excitement written on her face.

"Then...then it was Jerry," Kevin said. "He had the knife...he was right there the very night..."

Lilly looked back at Scotty and smiled. "And he took the knife right into Bill Reeve's office."

----------

End of Chapter Eight...please leave a review.


	9. Come Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Tis the Season by Henabrey

See Chapter One for disclaimers etc.

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Chapter Nine: Come Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

----------

Jefferies and Vera found Jerry Pullman in a bar, getting an early start on Christmas cheer by trying to start a fight with someone who looked like a professional wrestler and easily had a foot and a hundred pounds on the smaller, lighter but no less angry Jerry. They saved Pullman from what would no doubt have been a serious pounding by flashing their badges at the wrestler and persuading him that committing felony assault right in front of a couple of homicide detectives wasn't a good career move. The wrestler agreed, more or less politely, and Jefferies slapped the cuffs on the protesting Jerry while Vera read him his rights.

Jerry was not grateful for the assistance, and flung obscenities at them all the way back to Headquarters, which added a unique flavour to the late morning traffic. Vera drove too fast, gritting his teeth, and wondering why it was that every year people got crazier and crazier, both as drivers and as pedestrians, and why he was the only sane person left driving the roads of Philadelphia.

"You're a charming individual," Jefferies observed as he led Jerry into Interview Room A. "It's been a pleasure spending time with you."

"Fuck off."

"I gotta warn you," Vera was saying to Lilly in the observation area, "his vocabulary seems to consist entirely of words beginning with the letters f, c and s."

"Nothing I haven't heard before."

"I wouldn't be too sure. He's made a study of it."

Jefferies had taken one of the chairs at the desk in the interview room and was sitting with his arms crossed, watching Jerry, who was glancing around him like he'd only just worked out where he was. It was hard to see what Carmel Watson had seen in him. His skin was pale and sick-looking in the harsh overhead light of the interview room; his nose was slightly off-centre and obviously had been broken more than once and his overhanging brow and angry expression gave the impression of a pale, pissed off gorilla. He caught Jefferies' eye. "The fuck you lookin' at?"

"You want to watch your mouth," Lilly said from the doorway. "Your mother never taught you manners?"

"Who's this bitch?" Jerry asked Jefferies after giving Lilly a blatant once-over.

"I'm the bitch who's going to put you away for murder," Lilly said, striding over to the desk and pulling out the chair, deliberately putting on an air of arrogance and aggression to match Jerry's own. Chameleon skills came in handy as a cop, and Lilly was able to use hers to perfection. She could be many things to many different people, and for Jerry she was a tough-as-nails hard-ass. She wanted him angry. Angry people found themselves blurting things out they otherwise wouldn't, and Lilly was sure a female unsubdued by Jerry's macho domineering would make him angrier than almost anything.

"Say what?"

"Murder," she said, taking a seat. "The murder of John Doe, otherwise known as Nicholas. Christmas, two years ago."

"That Santa Claus you and the fat guy were askin' about?" Jerry asked, still addressing Jefferies. "I fuckin' told you, I didn't know about him."

"Maybe you know about this," Lilly said, showing him the photo of the knife found at the crime scene. "Look familiar?"

Jerry studied it, unable to disguise the glint of recognition in his eyes. "Nope."

"Really," Lilly said, putting a note of disbelief in her voice. "I was so sure you'd recognise it, Jerry."

"Well, I don't."

"It's the murder weapon," Jefferies said. "Nicholas was stabbed four times with it. Bled to death in an alleyway six days before Christmas."

"But you'd know all about that," Lilly said.

"The fuck should I know about some homeless guy getting knifed? Not like it ain't happened before."

"You're telling me this isn't your knife?"

"No, bitch, it ain't my knife."

"Hmm," Lilly said, letting the insult slide. "We'll come back to that. Let's talk about your friend Carmel Watson."

"Ain't no friend of mine."

"But she used to be," Jefferies said. "You used her as a punching bag for three years, remember?"

"I remember she loved every minute of it."

"Really," said Lilly with an entirely fake smile. "That's not the way she tells it."

"The mistake of her life, wasn't that the way she put it, Lil?" Jefferies said, regarding the other man with cool disdain.

"That's right. And she finally got the guts to leave you that week, right, Jerry?"

Jerry shrugged.

"About a week before the murder, I believe. How'd that make you feel?"

He shrugged again. "She wants to leave, that's her fuckin' business. Plenty more bitches where she came from."

"Me? I'd be pissed off," Jefferies said. "You weren't pissed off, Jerry? Your girl wants to walk out on you, thinks she can just go whenever she wants? That would be enough to make anyone angry."

"Okay, I was pissed. Is that a crime?"

"Well, that depends," Lilly said. "Depends on what you did about it. Did you try and see her?"

"No."

"Call her?"

"No."

"Harass her? You didn't go round to her sister's place and threaten to kill her? Go to the store where she worked and threaten to cut her face off? You didn't do those things?"

"No."

"You didn't make life so difficult she had to get a restraining order against you?"

Silence.

"This isn't ringing any bells?"

Silence.

"There's such a thing as court records, Jerry. We have a court record of the restraining order issued against you the very day of the murder. The lawyer who filed the application was John Wilson."

"So?"

"So John Wilson works at offices just a block and a half from the place Nicholas got dead. And you were seen heading in that direction the night he died."

"Say what?"

"Muttering about restraining orders," Jefferies added.

"Witness said you looked a little upset."

"Must have been somebody else," Jerry said. His angry demeanour was suddenly mixed with something less certain and he seemed far less sure of himself. Lilly smelled progress.

"Somebody else who looks just like you who had a restraining order obtained against them by John Wilson the same day you did? How many people would fit that description, you think?"

Shrug.

"I think the answer to that would be 'not many', don't you?"

Shrug.

"So you want to start coming clean about that night? You went to Wilson & Reeve's offices, didn't you? To try and see John Wilson?"

"Fuck, no."

"You didn't go to the offices of Wilson & Reeve to threaten the man who helped your girlfriend get away from you?"

"Fuck, _no_."

"You didn't take this knife -" she poked the photo of the murder weapon - "and go to threaten John Wilson?"

"Bitch, I already told you _no_. How many fuckin' times to I have to say it?"

In the observation room, Scotty was standing with his nose no more than an inch from the two way mirror, his fists clenched. He could hear Vera, Stillman and Kat moving around behind him and making comments, but he wasn't taking in anything they said. His whole attention was focused on the interrogation going on in front of him - and it wasn't the prospect of finally solving the murder that had him concentrating so hard. It was Jerry. Specifically, it was Jerry being in the same room as Lilly. Maybe he was just being over protective, but he just didn't like her being near a girlfriend-bashing potential murder suspect. Especially when it was Jefferies in there with her and not Scotty himself. Not that he didn't trust Jefferies to stop Jerry if he tried anything, it was just...okay, he didn't trust anyone else when it came to protecting Lilly. Not fully.

She'd kill him if she knew what he was thinking.

And that Jerry. He'd looked at her like she was a piece of meat, called her a bitch. Scotty knew what Jerry would like to do to her if he had her to himself. Scotty knew what he'd like to do to Jerry. If he'd been the interview room instead of Jefferies, he'd probably have clocked him one already. Maybe that was why Stillman had suggested he sit this one out. Probably a good idea for everyone's sakes, but it didn't make it easy being on the wrong side of the glass watching Lilly work her magic.

God, but she was beautiful. He could take time out from glowering at Jerry to appreciate the fact. Even the bad light of the room she was in couldn't wash away the perfect luminescence of her skin, the impossibly blonde hair, the half second glimpses he caught of her ice chip eyes as she turned to look at Jefferies. Was it only a day ago that he'd lost himself in her lips? And was it only a day ago that he'd chickened out and thrown away any chance he'd had of doing it again? The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to slap himself over the head.

He stood, one inch from the two way mirror, his breath fogging the glass. Ready to smash right through the barrier the very second Jerry made a move towards her and she needed his help.

"I wonder, Jerry," Lilly was saying, "what Carmel would say if we showed her this picture of the knife you say isn't yours?"

"She'd say fuck all if she knew what was good for her."

"Oh? You're trying to hide something?"

"No."

"No. And your friends who so thoughtfully provided an alibi for you earlier, they've never seen you with this knife either?"

"That's right."

"And you never went round to Wilson & Reeve to confront John Wilson about the restraining order."

"No."

"Well, I am surprised," Lilly said. "I didn't pick you for the type who'd take things lying down."

"I ain't." He was glaring at her like he could cheerfully tear her throat out, and Lilly had an idea of exactly what he'd have looked like to Kevin Morgan that night two years ago. She was kind of glad Jefferies was in here with her.

"So, Carmel leaves you, and you cause some trouble so she gets a restraining order against you with the help of this lawyer, and you don't try and at least _talk_ with the guy?"

"Nope."

"I'm sorry, I just don't believe it," Lilly said.

"Me either," Jefferies said, glowering.

"Ain't my fuckin' problem," Jerry said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "I wasn't there, I don't know nothin' about a knife, I never tried to talk to this fuckin' lawyer, and I don't see what this has to do with this murder you're so sure I did."

Jefferies and Lilly looked at each other. Jerry's denial act was getting old.

"Look, Jerry, cut the crap," Lilly said. "You were _seen_. I have a witness who saw you in the area the night of the murder, in possession of the murder weapon. You had a motive and your alibi is on shaky ground. You're in deep trouble, unless you can explain to me how the knife got from you to the alleyway Nicholas died in without you being involved."

Shrug.

"Murder, Jerry," Jefferies said. "This is a death penalty state, you know. You're what, twenty? You want to be on death row at twenty? All those inmates, they're goin' to love you."

"I didn't kill no one," Jerry said sullenly.

"So you found out about the restraining order," Jefferies said, as if Jerry hadn't spoken. "And you're pissed off that someone's helping Carmel wash her hands of you."

"So you go around to Wilson & Reeve's," Lilly said. "To try and get John Wilson to mind his own business."

"No."

"But Wilson wasn't there - he was in hospital getting eight stitches in his head from falling down the stairs. Reeve was there, though."

"I don't know what you're fuckin' talkin' about."

"And Reeve says, hey, it's not _Wilson's _fault Carmel left you, it's that Santa Claus guy who lives up the street. He's been giving everyone round here bad ideas. Go see Santa Claus if you want to get something off your chest."

"No."

"So off you go up the street, and you see Santa -"

"No."

"- and you get your knife out -"

"_No_."

"- and you stab him. Four times. He bled to death right in front of you."

"_That's not what fuckin' happened!_" He suddenly leant forward onto the table, putting his face less than a foot from Lilly's. She didn't move. She stared into his eyes, noting that while they were a similar shade to Scotty's, they had none of his warmth or passion. It was like looking into the eyes of an angry shark. She smiled a cold smile.

"Of course it is. I've got it all figured out."

"_It can't have! _When I left the lawyer_ -_" He cut himself off.

"When you left the lawyer what?" Lilly demanded. "Why can't it have happened exactly as I said?"

Nothing.

"Jerry? Why can't it have happened exactly as I said? Why can't you have left the lawyer's, gone round to where Santa was and drove that knife you had right into his -"

"_Because I didn't have the fuckin' knife when I left! Bitch!"_

A _ha_.

"But I thought you never went there at all, Jerry," Lilly said sweetly.

Jerry sat back his chair and stared at the table. There was a sulky look around the corners of his mouth, and he remained silent.

"What happened?" Jefferies asked. "How'd you lose the knife?"

"You went to see Wilson," Lilly said. "And he wasn't there."

Jerry opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again. "The other lawyer was there. Reeve..."

----------

_Bullshit pieces of paper, restraining orders. What the fuck, right? That bitch, Carmel, and her asshole lawyer tryin' to fuck with him. He'd show them. He'd show them _good_. He'd tried earlier, as soon as he'd heard about the fucking piece of paper, had gone round to Carmel's sister's apartment to have a nice friendly chat with the fucking bitch about the fucking piece of paper and what she could do with it, but her friend had been there, the one he didn't like. Big fucker, and not the sort of guy you'd want to tangle with. One look at the guy's face and Jerry had decided he'd be better taking up the issue with the asshole lawyer and not Carmel herself. Not until Carmel's friend wasn't around, anyway. Now he was here in the asshole lawyer's office building, in the asshole lawyer's plush expensive hallway, and he had his knife, and the only thing between him and Wilson was a sandy haired boy in a suit who looked like a kid playing dress-ups._

_"Mr Wilson?" the young man asked, eyes wide and focused on the knife in Jerry's hand. He looked like he'd never seen a knife before in his life. He also looked like he was about to piss himself. Fuckin' pansy. Ought to knife him just on principle. "He's not here."_

_Nice try, asshole. "Wilson. Now."_

_"Look, he's not here, I swear."_

_"Well, where the fuck is he?"_

_"Hospital! He's in the hospital. Fell...down the stairs. Cut his head."_

_"Fuck, what kind of bullshit is this? I want Wilson, alright? Now, if I don't see him real soon somebody's gonna get -"_

_"Look, I swear!" the other man cried, holding his hands out in front of him in an imploring gesture that had absolutely no effect on Jerry other than making him angrier. "Please, don't -"_

_"Jeremy, what the hell is going on? I'm in conference with Suarez and I can't..." the new voice trailed off, and Jerry turned to see another man standing in the doorway to an office further up the hallway. This one looked the part of a lawyer, all suave and suited and Jerry wanted to smack the look off his face._

_"You Wilson?"_

_The other man's eyes went from Jerry's to the knife and back. There was no sign on fear or alarm. "No, I'm not. Bill Reeve. What do you think you're doing?"_

_"I want Wilson. Now."_

_"He's in the hospital," Reeve said, and Jerry caught Jeremy looking secretly triumphant before wiping the glee off his face. Smart move._

_"The fuckin' hospital," Jerry said. Well, fuck. He sure picked the right night to fall down the stairs, didn't he? "When's he gettin' out?"_

_"Tomorrow. I'd say you could come back to threaten him then, but I prefer you didn't."_

_"Yeah, well, I'd prefer a lot of things, too. Doesn't mean I'm goin' to get them." Still, no point in sticking around. He could come back tomorrow, check for cops, ambush Wilson as he walked to his car or something. He started to move backwards, towards the front door, and then stopped. Reeve had reached into his jacket and in one swift move produced a gun, pointed it at him, and in a split second had utterly turned the tables on the confrontation. Jerry stared down its hungry black maw and felt his insides turn to ice. Knives he could handle. Guns scared the crap out of him. What wasn't to fear when you could die without even getting close to your attacker? He spoke, but the rage had completely gone from his voice. "The hell is this?"_

_"It's a gun, you fuck. What d'ya think it is, a bunch of roses?"_

_"Now, look -"_

_"No, you look. Drop the knife."_

_The knife dropped out of his suddenly numb hand._

_"Kick it over to Jeremy." Jerry complied and Jeremy bent and picked it up. He retreated a safe distance away and watched with wide eyes._

_"On your knees," Reeve said._

_Jerry dropped, holding his arms above his head in a hey-don't-shoot-me position. The gun followed him as he sank to his knees. "Hey, come on, man, I wasn't -"_

_"Wasn't what? Wasn't going to hurt anyone? Wasn't going to do anything?"_

_"That's right!" It was a lie, at least he thought it was, but if it stopped him getting shot he was quite happy to be economical with the truth. "I just wanted to talk to Wilson! That's all! I swear!"_

_"Why?" Reeve took a step forward, then another and another, never relaxing his grip on the gun, which looked bigger and more lethal to Jerry the closer it got._

_"My girlfriend, Carmel - she got a restraining order. Wilson helped her."_

_"So, what? You were going to try and politely talk him out of it? Why'd she want a restraining order?"_

_Jerry struggled with himself a moment. "I got a temper."_

_"Really. I'd never have guessed. You hit her?"_

_Jerry nodded. "Only when she deserved it, man."_

_Reeve laughed without mirth. If a shark could laugh, Jerry thought, that's what it would sound like. It was utterly terrifying. "Of course. Otherwise it would be wrong, wouldn't it?"_

_Silence._

_"You really are a piece of scum, aren't you?" Reeve asked. He reached the spot where Jerry was kneeling and pressed the gun's muzzle against his temple. Jerry had never been so sure that he was about to die, and what a way to go, shot by the partner of a lawyer you'd fully intended to scare the shit out of earlier that night. He wondered if he'd hear the shot or if everything would suddenly just go black. And was the front of his jeans wet? Had he wet himself in his fear? He was terribly afraid he had. "What are you?"_

_"Scum," Jerry said in a voice that sounded as though it had been dragged over gravel. "Look, man, don't hurt me, I didn't -"_

_"I've been seeing a lot of scum lately," Reeve said over the top of him. "They keep coming into my office building trying to see John Wilson."_

_"Oh, oh yeah?"_

_"It's very inconvenient, as I'm sure you can appreciate. Looks bad to the other clients, you see."_

_Jerry did. "Uh, yeah, man."_

_"It's that Santa Claus fucker who lives down the street. _On_ the street."_

_Santa Claus? The same guy who'd tried to stop him from coming here tonight? Oh, how Jerry wished he'd listened to the man. None of this would have happened, he wouldn't be about to die with wet jeans and apparently absolutely no balls whatsoever, and that bitch Carmel wouldn't have the last laugh...he could be at a bar with his buddies looking for the next bitch instead of here with a gun pressed to his fucking head._

_"That Santa Claus, he's been screwing my life up good these last few weeks. Talking to my partner, sending scum round to talk to him, looking for free fucking legal advice, you believe that?"_

_"Fucked up, man."_

_"You're right, it is. And I'll just bet he's behind this restraining order you're so mad about. Jeremy, hand me that knife." Jeremy skirted around Jerry like he was a dangerous snake - or a puddle of mud - until he was close enough to Reeve to pass him the knife. Jerry looked up as far as he dared and saw that the young man's hands were shaking like a Parkinson's patient. Also that he offered the knife like a lowly squire would offer a sword to a king, like a priest making an offering to a god. Good deal of hero worship going on there, then. Reeve took the knife and held it at eye level, admiring the intricate snake's-head design of the handle._

_"Nice knife, my friend. Sharp, I'll bet."_

_"Thanks. Uh, yeah, it is." To his horror, he suddenly felt the blade against his throat, pressing slightly. Oh, this was _worse_ than the gun. To be at the mercy of his _own_ blade, to know that his own knife could cut him open like a fish at any second...it was about the worst moment of his life. "Hey! Don't!" he said in a near shriek. "_Please_, man. I didn't mean it! I wasn't goin' to hurt anyone, I swear! Just please, please let me go."_

_"My God, you're pathetic," Reeve said in a voice dripping with disdain. "Tell you what, you're just not worth going to jail for. I'm going to let you go."_

_"Oh, man, thankyou. I swear, I won't -" _

_"But, know this. You come back here again, I'll be waiting. You threaten John Wilson, I know your face. I even catch you looking at this office building we're going to have a problem. You get me?"_

_"I get you, I get you," Jerry said, ashamed to feel tears on his face. "I won't come back, I promise."_

_The knife was withdrawn, and one second later the ugly black weight of the gun was lifted from his temple. Jerry could have sobbed in relief. "Get the hell out of here," Reeve said, taking a step back, still holding the gun out in front of him._

_Jerry got slowly to his feet, tottering a little like he was drunk. Reeve regarded him like he was a bug that had been mashed into his carpet, holding the gun in one hand and the knife in the other. Jeremy stood behind Reeve's left shoulder, watching Jerry with wide eyes._

_"Thanks," Jerry stammered, and fled._

_----------_

"I went home, got changed, and went out to a bar with my friends. Got extremely fucked up, but who wouldn't? That was it," Jerry said. He was studying the scuffed table top and refusing to meet either detective's eyes. One hand traced an embarrassed circle on his leg. There was silence.

"Wow, Jerry," Lilly said eventually. "I just about believe that story."

"Can't see a guy lying about wetting himself," Jefferies agreed.

Jerry flushed. "It's the truth."

"And the last time you saw the knife it was in Reeve's hands," Jefferies said, folding his arms.

"Not something I'm likely to forget in a hurry."

"Okay," said Lilly, pushing herself up from the table and heading for the door. She couldn't help the hot little glow of triumph in her chest - she had him. She had her man right where she wanted him. "We need to talk to Bill Reeve. Arrest him."

----------

The problem with having your man right where you wanted him, she thought an hour later, was that he didn't always _realise_ the fact. Lilly might have him with a motive, opportunity, a dodgy alibi and a witness who placed the murder weapon right in his hot little hand, but Bill Reeve didn't seem to realise the predicament he was in. He was sitting in Interview Room A with his lawyer, a suave, Italian-suited clone, and despite the fact that four homicide detectives had been at him for an hour, his smug facade hadn't cracked.

"He ain't talkin'," Scotty said, rubbing the skin between his eyes with two fingers. He was standing in the observation room with Lilly, watching Vera going to work. Stillman stood against the interview room's wall, creating an overbearing presence but letting Vera do most of the talking. The only sign of fatigue Reeve showed was a slight tightening of the muscles around his mouth and a slight slump of his shoulders. Reeve's lawyer was starting to bleat about harassment.

"He's not even admitting to seeing Jerry that night," Lilly said, massaging her neck. She really didn't like Reeve; being this close to him was giving her a serious headache.

"Doesn't see a reason," Scotty said. "Who's he? Hotshot lawyer and pillar of the community. Who are our witnesses? A homeless guy and a thug who liked to beat up on his woman. Who's the jury likely to believe?"

Lilly sighed in frustration. Scotty was right. It might look like they could make the case on paper, but chances were once it got to court it would go nowhere. _If_ it got to court. Justice was blind, maybe, but in the court system hotshot lawyers were a hell of a lot more believable than the kinds of witnesses she and Scotty had. They needed either a confession, which they weren't likely to get, or another witness. The only one they knew of was Jeremy, and he wasn't very likely to be cooperative seeing as how they were trying to put his hero away for murder. And they couldn't even find Jeremy at the moment. He'd been at the office when she and Jefferies had arrested Reeve, but was now nowhere to be found. Apparently he was taking a three hour lunch.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the touch of hands on the back of her neck. Scotty's hands. She froze. What was he doing, touching her? Goddamn it, he was supposed to be keeping his distance so she could work on getting over her feelings for him, not digging his thumbs right into the sorest part of her neck and slowly working the knots out, rolling his fingers over her skin, smoothing away the pain, and...well, he was rather good at this...

"Scotty," she said, and what she'd meant to sound like a warning came out more like a purr. Crap.

"Stay still," he murmured, his hands slowly working her muscles. She couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to - what he was doing felt far too good for her to do anything but tilt her head back, roll her shoulders in time to his movements and let the air escape her lungs in a sigh. If he wanted to keep massaging her neck for the next year or so, she wasn't going to complain...

She almost forgot she was supposed to be concentrating on the interview going on in front of her; her whole mind and body was caught up in Scotty's ministrations. It was the second time in two days he'd had his hands on her, and she couldn't believe the effect they had on her - it was like suddenly they were the only two people on earth, and nothing else seemed to matter but the feel of his fingertips on her skin. It was a little scary, the power his touch had, and yet strangely exciting. And the more he did it, the more she was regretting her decision to reject the idea of being anything more than his friend. Exactly why she shouldn't let him near her - she knew the decision she'd made was the right one, and letting him massage her neck was not going to make it easy to stick to it. Still, though, she didn't move away.

The sound of the door behind them start to open brought her back to her senses. Scotty's hands left her neck and before the door was fully open he was back standing by her side, moving far too quickly to have been seen by the person entering. Lucky - Lilly didn't need any rumours starting. She turned to look and saw Jefferies and Miller, who'd been back to Wilson & Reeve's office building to canvas the other tenants. By the look of their faces, they finally had something.

"What is it?" Lilly asked, feeling Scotty turn beside her.

"Emilio Hernandez," Jefferies said, entering the room. "Architect from the office across the street? He remembers seeing Jerry enter Wilson & Reeve's building at about half past eight the night of the murder. He also remembers seeing him leave ten minutes later, looking upset."

"And we spoke with Suarez, the client Reeve was on the phone to that night," Kat said. "He remembers Reeve putting him on hold because, quote, there was a disturbance, end quote. Suarez said he could hear yelling in the background, and when Reeve came back he sounded pissed."

"Okay," said Lilly. "So we can verify that Jerry did go there that night. Great."

"See what Reeve says about that," Scotty said.

"Any sign of Jeremy?"

"None," Kat said. "The receptionist said he wasn't answering his cell, either."

"I've heard of hero worship," Jefferies said, "but going on the run just to avoid putting your hero in prison seems a little extreme."

Ten minutes later, after a brief conference, Vera re-entered the interview room, accompanied this time by Lilly, who fixed Reeve with her very hardest stare as she took her seat at the table. Reeve stared back, smug expression firmly in place. The lawyer clone by his side showed no emotion at all, barely even glancing at Lilly as she sat down. The four of them sat for a minute in silence, sizing each other up.

"My client," said the lawyer clone eventually, breaking the quiet, "has been through enough. He has repeatedly told you he has no knowledge of the events of the night in question, has no memory of ever meeting this Mr Pullman you talk of, and certainly denies ever having handled any knife. So, unless you've managed to come up with something more concrete than the ravings of a homeless lunatic and a drunk thug I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist -"

"Actually, we have," Lilly interrupted. "Mr Reeve, there's an architect across the street from your offices. Emilio Hernandez."

Reeve raised an eyebrow, as if to say '_so what?'_

"He was in his offices the night of the murder. He remembers Jerry entering your building just after eight thirty that night. He also remembers him leaving ten minutes later, looking upset."

"Yeah," said Vera. "Like he'd had a gun held to his head."

There was a very slight tightening of Reeve's mouth. It was subtle, but there - and Lilly and Vera both had long years' worth of experience in reading people. "My office is not the only office in the building," Reeve said, despite the warning hiss from his lawyer. "Perhaps he went to visit somebody else."

"Right," said Vera. "The very day Wilson gets a restraining order against Jerry on behalf of his beaten up girlfriend, Jerry decides to pay a social visit to some other guy in the same building Wilson works in."

"Forgive us for being sceptical," Lilly put in.

"What was the knife for, self protection? In case the janitor decided to try something?"

Reeve's lip curled.

"We've also been speaking to your client, Mr Suarez," Lilly said, and this time there was a definite tightening of Reeve's mouth. One of his eyelids twitched. "And _he_ remembers you putting him on hold for ten minutes. Seems there was some kind of disturbance in your office."

"Yeah, like someone coming in with a knife looking for Wilson."

Reeve shrugged. "Look, Detectives, supposing - and I'm not admitting it - but supposing it all happened as you said. This Jerry person comes to the office, looking for Wilson, and I chase him off with a gun. So what? Do you have any proof he actually pulled the knife on me? Any proof I took it from him? Any proof at all that he didn't leave the office with the knife?"

Lilly and Vera looked at each other.

"The story of a girlfriend-beating gorilla isn't going to mean much in a court of law, Detectives. Not compared to an upstanding member of society like myself. Sorry to disappoint you."

"We'll see," was the best Vera could come up with.

"Is this the way Jeremy's going to remember things?" Lilly asked.

"Jeremy?" Reeve asked, like he'd forgotten the name.

"He was there," Lilly pointed out. "He saw what happened. You think he's not going to talk after staying in here with me a few hours?"

Reeve fixed her with a blank gaze. "Detective, I have no doubt you could get Jeremy to say whatever you want him to say."

"I want him to tell me the truth."

Reeve smiled. "Talk to him, then."

"Can't," Vera said. "He seems to have done a runner." Reeve's eyebrow rose.

"Perhaps he thinks by running he won't have to tell us what happened," Lilly said. "He's protecting you."

Reeve laughed. "Protecting me? Yes...yes, that's probably it." His eyes met hers; smug, confident, and utterly devoid of any concern or fear for himself, and Lilly suddenly found herself struggling to maintain eye contact. He was _too_ confident. Any other murderer in this position would surely show _some_ sign of a knowledge of impending doom, _some_ hint of worry. But there was nothing from him. Just the surety that he'd be back in his office by the end of the day working on his next lawsuit - probably against City Hall for his wrongful arrest. There was something wrong here...for the first time since she was in New York, Lilly had doubts about his guilt.

"Look," said Vera. "It'll be better for you if you just cooperate with us and come clean about what happened. The DA might be lenient if you just admit your guilt now and save us all some time and expense."

Reeve didn't take his eyes off Lilly. "I'm done talking, Detectives. I think I'd like to go to my nice comfortable holding cell, now. You find Jeremy and talk to him, and if you still want to talk to me when you're finished, you'll know where to find me." He smiled, feline and arrogant, like he was issuing a challenge.

"He's just goin' to make this hard for us, ain't he?" Scotty asked a minute later when Vera and Lilly entered the observation room. Reeve was conferring quietly with his lawyer in the interview room. A uniform stood outside, waiting to take Reeve to the holding area.

"I've put out an APB on Morville," Stillman said. "And I've got people checking the airport. It's just a matter of time before we find him."

"Lil?" Scotty asked, as she brushed past him to stand at the two way mirror and stared into the room before her.

"There's something wrong," she said to him quietly. "We're missing something."

"About what? Reeve?"

"It's...I don't know..." she trailed off, frustrated. There were thoughts whirling through her mind, connections trying to be made, snatches of conversations and interviews floating up out of the dark recesses of her brain, trying to link everything she knew together into a cognitive whole. As she stared, Bill Reeve's head came up and sought her out. Even though he had no way of knowing where she was standing, or if she was in the observation room at all, he had no trouble meeting her gaze. He smiled again as he stood to leave the room, and suddenly she _knew_.

The memories, tumbling over and over in her head, settled into a steady stream.

_Oh, he's not a flashy sort of lawyer. Never get anywhere in the big firms. But he works hard...I suppose I'm sort of a father figure to him._

_Mr Reeve is my uncle._

_He bore all the telltale signs of a major crush._

_Mr Reeve can convince anyone to do anything. And I can be pretty persuasive too when I have to be._

_If he's your guy, he was either in two places at once or he's good at getting people to lie for him._

_Wilson & Reeve was his home, and he loved every aspect of it from the fine mahogany desks to the smallest filing cabinet in his office with the dent on one side. _

_You still have time to choose._

_I'm loyal to the firm of Wilson & Reeve._

_He knows somethin'._

_Perhaps he thinks by running he won't have to tell us what happened._

_Protecting me? Yes...yes, that's probably it._

_He was too confident. Any other murderer in this position would surely show some sign of a knowledge of impending doom, some hint of worry. But there was nothing from him. Just the surety that he'd be back in his office by the end of the day working on his next lawsuit - probably against City Hall for his wrongful arrest. There was something wrong here..._

In her mind's eye, she saw a young man sitting in front of her, sandy haired, eager eyed, nervous, confused, and underneath the surface, a little defiant. Denying utterly that Reeve had anything to do with Nicholas' death.

_Protecting me? Yes...yes, that's probably it._

"Loyal to the firm of Wilson & Reeve," she murmured.

"What?" asked Scotty. "Lil?"

"I don't think he did it," Lilly said slowly. The roomful of detectives swung her way as a single body. "Reeve. I don't think he did it. I think his alibi won't break because it's _true_."

"But then who -"

"I think it was _Jeremy_."

----------

End of Chapter Nine


	10. The Little Drummer Boy

Tis the Season by Henabrey

See Chapter One for all those summaries and things

----------

Chapter Ten: The Little Drummer Boy

----------

Five pairs of eyes stared at Lilly as though she had suddenly started speaking in tongues. Silence reigned. Behind her, Bill Reeve left the interview room accompanied by his lawyer and the hulking presence of Officer Schmidt, who was in charge of making sure Reeve got back to the holding cells.

"You think _what_?" Stillman said eventually.

"I think it was Jeremy," she said again, hating the looks she was getting. Admittedly, her idea seemed a little out there, and Reeve certainly looked good for Nicholas' murder. Good enough that she'd started being able to taste the celebratory drink she was planning on after he'd been booked. Still, she was a cop, and a cop learned to trust their instincts. And her instincts were telling her - no, yelling at her - that Reeve was the wrong man. "Jeremy Morville."

"But Lil," Scotty started, sounding like he was trying to talk a jumper off the edge of a building, "you said it yourself, Reeve's the guy. He's got the motive, the unconvincin' alibi, hell, we got the murder weapon in his hand the night of the murder! Why have you -"

"He has an alibi," she said. "It might be unconvincing, but it's there, and none of you have got his wife or his neighbour to recant their story _or_ change their minds about the time he got home."

"And you think that's because it actually happened the way they say it did?" Jefferies asked.

"Yes," she said firmly. They were all still looking at her like she was crazy. She sighed. "Jeremy told us he left the office before Reeve did, just before nine. What if he left with the knife in his possession?"

"Why, though?" Kat asked. "Reeve has the motive, not Jeremy."

"Jeremy _does_ have a motive, though," Lilly reminded them. "He loves it at Wilson & Reeve. Bill told us Jeremy wouldn't have a chance at any partnership in any of the bigger firms. At Wilson & Reeve he could get all the power he wants. He looks up to Bill like a father. He's as loyal as a golden retriever."

"Yeah, but Lil -"

"And then along comes this Santa Claus, messing things up. Jeremy's got a distraught Helen on one side and an angry Reeve on the other, telling him that Santa needs to be shut down. He knows bribing the man didn't work. Maybe Jerry coming around that night threatening him was the last straw."

"It's a big stretch between bein' loyal and bein' a murderer, Lil," Scotty told her, frowning.

"I know. I know it sounds unlikely," she said, turning to him. "But think about it. The firm's about to go down the toilet; John Wilson wants to leave and the business might not survive without him, there are homeless people and beaten girlfriends and who knows what else clogging the waiting room, Reeve's getting angrier and angrier, and it's all because of this guy who lives on a street corner. And then one night you find yourself with a knife in your hand."

Scotty's eyes were on hers, dark and solemn. She thought for a second that she wasn't getting through to him, but then there was a flash of recognition deep inside them, like he was suddenly recognising the possibility, and she persevered. "If you were happy, if you had all you ever wanted, and all of a sudden you could see it about to slip away like sand through your fingers, is there anything you wouldn't do to try and save it?"

She could sense the others in the room, knew they were there, but it was like they were on the other side of a thick plate of glass, a long way away. It was her partner she wanted to convince of her theory. She didn't question her need or wonder if there was a deeper meaning to it than just having someone think she was right, merely acknowledged it. It was simple - she needed him by her side. Her gaze was locked with his. _Go with me_, she silently implored him. _Go with me on this_.

"He's got it pretty bad for Natalie," Scotty said eventually, nodding, and she could have hugged him.

"Yeah, he does," she said, smiling faintly.

"And he's run," Scotty pointed out. "He knows we've arrested Bill - he must guess that we've got somethin' concrete. We assumed he's run to protect Reeve. Could be he's protectin' himself."

"I'm not convinced," Stillman said flatly, and Lilly started, slightly surprised to find that it wasn't just Scotty standing close enough to hear her speak. "But we need to talk to him anyway, find out what he knows about Jerry and the knife. There's an APB out on him already. You can ask him if he's the doer when he gets picked up."

"Why would Reeve be covering for him, though?" Jefferies asked. "Why didn't he just say it was Jeremy when we arrested him?"

"Would you have believed him?" Lilly asked. Jefferies shrugged. "You wouldn't. None of us would. We'd have thought he was just trying to shift the blame onto someone else. Maybe he thought we'd try him as an accessory, I don't know. He probably thought if all we had was Jerry's word on what happened he'd be better just staying quiet."

"Easy way to find out," Vera said, hands on hips. "why don't we just ask him?"

"He's not exactly in a talkative mood," Kat said.

"Lil'll believe him, though. He's got no reason to keep denying it."

"Maybe he does, though," Lilly said. "Jeremy's father was a friend of Bill's, and Jeremy looks up to him. Maybe the father-son thing works both ways."

"He's gotta know that it's him or Morville going down for this, though," Kat said. "And he doesn't strike me as the sacrificial type."

"Lil, ask him," Stillman said. "It can't hurt. Everyone else, we have a man wanted for questioning and another in custody. Get looking for something we can use against one of them. Or both."

He and the others filed out of the observation room, leaving just Scotty and Lilly standing side by side in front of the two way mirror. Lilly looked up and found his eyes. "What do you think? Do you believe me?"

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe."

Lilly nodded. It was better than nothing.

Scotty sighed. "I trust your instincts."

"Thankyou," Lilly said, smiling. They stood awhile in silence, looking into the empty interview room, and then Lilly found herself reaching out for his hand, curling her fingers around his and squeezing lightly. Surprised, he squeezed back. "Partner."

----------

"I have a theory," Lilly said five minutes later as she stood in front of Bill Reeve's holding cell. His was not the only occupied cell; a weedy, balding man in a suit was rocking back and forth on the bench in the one next to Reeve's and down the other end of the row a teenaged gang member, caught up in the hopeless, violent cycle of his life, stood and stared with blank, hate-filled eyes out of the small meshed windows. "Maybe you can help me prove it."

"Maybe you hadn't noticed, but my lawyer isn't here," Reeve said, smiling coldly. "I'm not talking to you."

"You can just listen, then," Lilly said, folding her arms. "My theory? It wasn't you who killed Nicholas."

"Interesting, since you've arrested me for that very crime."

"My theory is that it was Jeremy who did the killing."

"Even more interesting."

"I mean, you're so adamant it wasn't you, right? But the knife was right there in your hand the night of the murder. So if it wasn't you it had to be someone else who was around that night. Someone who was loyal to you, who didn't want the firm to be shut down, who was willing to do whatever it took to get things back to the way they were before Santa Claus showed his face...Jeremy."

"That's quite a theory," Reeve said, leaning back against the wall of his cell. He smiled again, cold as the Arctic in January, and his eyes glinted with black humour. Oh, she hated him. How she hated his smug, arrogant face. And here she was trying to put him back out on the street. Was she crazy? No. Tempting as it was to just sit back and let the justice system do its work, she couldn't let an innocent man, however odious, go to prison any more than she could let a guilty one go free. She sighed inwardly. Some days it was tough being a cop - you didn't always get to put away the ones who deserved it.

"How am I doing?" she asked him. "Have I figured it out right?"

"Like I said, it's quite a theory. And like I also said, my lawyer's not here. I'm not talking to you."

"Why are you protecting him, Bill? He's just an employee, right? I mean, sure, it might not look good for the firm if he got done for murder, but it'll look a lot worse if it's _you_ on death row."

"I'm not protecting anyone, Detective. I'm just not talking to you."

Lilly stepped closer to the wire mesh of the cell, so close she was almost touching it. "Bill, come on. You know the law as well as I do. You've asked for your lawyer, and anything I learn without him here is inadmissible in court. You know that. So just tell me what happened. I can't use it against you _or_ Jeremy. I just want to know how it went down."

Bill just smiled his shark's smile.

"It's you or him, Bill. _One_ of you's a killer, and at the moment I've got my money on Jeremy. All you need to do is tell me exactly what happened and you can be right back in your cushy offices where you belong."

"You must be deaf, Detective. I distinctly remember telling you I wasn't talking to you without my lawyer present."

"And I distinctly remember just telling you that it's you or Jeremy. You protect him you're damning yourself. And you don't seem the type."

Silence. The coldly amused look never left Reeve's face.

"Fine," Lilly said. "Suit yourself. We'll find Jeremy eventually, and when we do we'll also find out the truth. And if I can prove you helped him in any way, even if you just knew what he did, I'll see you tried as an accessory. See how your firm stands up then."

She walked a straight line to the door, keeping her head upright and confident despite the frustration knifing her insides. She felt his malevolent eyes on her all the way up the corridor.

Scotty was waiting outside the doors, pacing back and forth with his hands on his hips. He turned when he heard the door swing open and knew from her face how the interview had gone. "Nothin'?"

"Nothing," she sighed. "I think he likes playing with us."

"Now what?"

Lilly shrugged. "Wait for Jeremy to resurface, I guess. Keep looking for evidence in the meantime." She didn't know why she'd expected anything else from her interview with Reeve - he seemed determined to make things difficult for them - but she couldn't help the annoyance she felt. Life would have been much simpler if Reeve had just told them it was Jeremy when they'd first arrested him; that way Jeremy wouldn't have gotten a crucial hour's head start on them. He could be half way to anywhere by now.

"I heard from Benson," Scotty said. "He and Chan are surveilling Morville's apartment. He rang to say that there hasn't been any sign of Jeremy since they got there."

"Not surprising."

"No," Scotty agreed. "So Benson knocked on the door of a few of the neighbours and asked them -"

"He did what?"

"Knocked on the door of Morville's neighbours, flashed his badge and started askin' loud questions about Jeremy so if Jeremy _was_ in his apartment he'd know the place was bein' watched and would never come outta there as long as he lived. It's _Benson_, Lil. He's an idiot."

Lil rolled her eyes in agreement.

"And the neighbours all said the same thing, that Jeremy showed up two hours ago in a hurry and left ten minutes later carrying a bag. Hasn't been seen since."

"Not the actions of a man on a three hour lunch break, then," Lil quipped.

"More like the actions of a man with somethin' to hide."

Lilly smiled at Scotty, acknowledging the words as a statement of belief in her. She knew he didn't necessarily share her ideas on the identity of the murderer, but he would stand by her in the quest for answers wherever the search took her. It could just be his innate curiosity that had him wanting to find Jeremy, but at least part of his desire for the truth was born out of support for her. His words were a sign of his trust in her, and she was touched.

There were hurried footsteps behind her, and she turned to see Kat approaching from the direction of the elevators. She looked triumphant.

"Jeremy used his credit card," she said. "He bought gas at a station outside Princeton, New Jersey."

"Princeton?" Scotty said. "That's north of here. Why's he headin' north?"

"Canada?" Kat asked.

"Or he could be tryin' to throw us off the trail, head west once he hits Newark," Scotty suggested. "Or maybe he'll just hop a plane to Mexico."

Lilly looked at him. "New York's north of here."

"New York _is_ north of here," he agreed. "You don't think he'd be so stupid?"

"Probably not," Lilly said. "But I think he must be close to panicking. And panicking people may seek somewhere they can get help and support, even if that _is _the most obvious place for the cops to be looking for them."

"Help and support from the one other person who wanted to get rid of Santa Claus as much as he and Reeve did, you mean?" Scotty said. "The one other person who could understand his actions?"

"We need surveillance on the Carlisle."

----------

The rest of the day was spent going over old ground, interviewing neighbours and colleagues, watching surveillance tapes, searching for that one piece of evidence that would put their man away - either man. It was mind-numbing work, and all for nothing - there was seemingly no evidence to indicate either Reeve or Jeremy as the killer. The frustration felt by all the detectives mounted as the day passed, and through it all Scotty was getting an increased desire to smack himself firmly over the head.

He watched Lilly work tirelessly towards her goals throughout the day, marvelling at her boundless, driven energy, and he couldn't believe he'd screwed up any chance he may have had of being more than her friend by not being completely honest with her back in Central Park. Sure, she'd reacted to the kiss just as he'd known she would, by marking it off as a mistake and not something that should be repeated, and at the time he'd been so flustered by what had happened and so desperate for her not to reject him as a friend as well as a potential lover that he'd just gone along with her wishes. But now, now that he'd had time to calm down and reflect on events, he wasn't so sure he'd done the right thing.

Her earlier awkwardness with him had subsided, and they were back to the close friendship they'd shared before they'd gone to New York. And with that close friendship had come the hint of something more. Every time she looked at him with those stunning eyes of hers, he felt a jolt of electricity racing through his veins like lightning, setting his nerves on fire and shortening his breath. And he could _swear_ there was this knowledge in her eyes, this acknowledgement that he had the same effect on her. The possibility of _something_ had been raised again.

Mostly, it was Kevin Morgan's words that morning that were weighing on his mind. "_Life is very short, much too short for needless fear," _Kevin had reported Nicholas saying._ "You must not be afraid to reach out for what you want. It doesn't matter what other people may say to you, it doesn't matter if you fail utterly and completely. What matters is that you try. If you don't try, all you are left with is a wish that things had been different. And by then it will be too late." _It was as though Nicholas himself had reached out from beyond the grave to give Scotty a good shake. _You fool, look at what you are denying yourself the chance of having. Isn't it worth the risk?_

If it were any other woman, he would have said yes straight away. But this was Lilly he was thinking about, and he knew her reluctance to expose herself emotionally, especially when it came to the people she worked with. There was every chance she'd not only say no if he said he wanted to be with her but also find it extremely difficult to work with him. He'd be risking his partnership, his entire friendship with her, just for a moment of honesty. He skittered back and forth like a young bird about to leave its nest for its first flight. It would be easier to just stay put, really, rather than crash and burn.

Yet Kevin's words still stuck in his brain, blazing like fire, taking root in his soul. And what was it John had said about words that you heard with your heart and stuck in your soul? They were a lot harder to shake.

Scotty and Lilly were in the break room of Wilson & Reeve's offices, interviewing Natalie. A search warrant had been obtained against both Reeve's home and office, and a swarm of PPD officers were picking over both premises, looking for any evidence that would help them convict either Reeve or Morville. No one had come up with anything useful. And Natalie was being less than cooperative. Now that her uncle had been arrested, she seemed to find Scotty roughly as attractive as something she'd find on the bottom of her shoe, and she glared at him icily the entire time she was talking to him. Only Lilly seemed to be less popular with the receptionist, and Scotty thought that was mainly because Natalie seemed the type to view all other women as competition in some bizarre unstated contest. He was relieved when his phone rang.

"Valens."

"You've arrested Bill." And Scotty had thought Natalie was being cold. She was a mere amateur compared to the voice on the other end of the line.

"Mrs Wilson," Scotty said with a rueful smile. Just what he needed. Lilly shot him a sympathetic glance as he stepped out of the room to take the call.

"You've arrested _Bill_." The distance between Philly and New York wasn't enough to negate the pure ice in Helen's tone. Scotty was glad she wasn't in the same room as him - it was almost enough to freeze him solid.

"Yes, we have," Scotty said.

"I told your partner that Bill couldn't have had anything -"

"Some new evidence came up..."

"- to do with the murder and you've gone and...what do you mean, new evidence?"

"I can't go into details, Mrs Wilson, but we have several eye witnesses that can place the murder weapon in Reeve's hands the night of the murder. Seems pretty cut and dry." A white lie, maybe, but if Jeremy Morville did try to contact Helen none of them needed Helen telling him he was a suspect. Better to be economical with the truth now than scare Jeremy even more than he was already.

"I don't believe it."

"Like I said, it seems pretty cut and dry."

"There must be some kind of mistake," Helen said impatiently, like she was explaining something to a stubborn child. "I _know_ Bill, and he would never...and he had an alibi, anyway!"

"Yes, we're lookin' into that."

"And you'll find nothing, I'm sure, because you've got the wrong man. Bill and my husband are lawyers, Detective Valens, and we know some excellent criminal defence attorneys, and when they get through with your department you'll -"

"As I'm sure your husband already told you, Bill already has his lawyer, who I'm sure is more than capable of bringing any wrongful arrest claims against City Hall if that turns out to be the case. But I don't think it will." Another white lie, but he was past caring about white lies.

"My husband?"

"Yeah, isn't that who told you about Reeve's arrest?"

There was a slight pause, but it told Scotty all he needed to know. "Yes, it was." Another pause. "We didn't talk about lawyers."

"You been talkin' to Jeremy Morville, by any chance? We've been lookin' for him. He's a witness, and we need to talk to him."

He could practically hear her thinking. "Uh, yes, he called me about an hour ago. From Washington."

"Washington?" _Ah, Helen, you don't fool me_, Scotty thought.

"DC. He had some urgent business there, but he called me to discuss...things."

_I'll bet_. "Well, maybe you could get him to give us a call, if he phones you again?"

"Of course, Detective. I'll let you go."

There was a beep, and then silence on the other end, and several forensic people gave Scotty's triumphant grin a curious glance as they walked past carrying boxes of potential evidence. He didn't care - Helen had just given him exactly what he wanted. Lilly looked up as he arrived in the doorway of the break room and jerked his head in the direction of the hallway.

"...following me around like a puppy dog," Natalie was saying. "I mean, how was I supposed to know -"

"Excuse me," Lilly said, and followed Scotty out of the door, ignoring Natalie's folded arms and cold stare. She turned to Scotty, her face clearly showing expectation of a breakthrough.

"He really was that stupid," Scotty told her gleefully. "Helen told me he called her this afternoon...from Washington."

"Exact opposite direction from the one we know he was going in," Lilly said with excitement, seeing where Scotty was going.

"She didn't come right out and say it, but ten bucks she's seen him, or at least knows where he is."

"I'll raise you ten bucks she's helping him out somehow, beyond lying about where he's contacted her from," Lilly said, almost looking like she could throw her arms around him in triumph. He wished she would. "He wouldn't be so stupid as to use his credit card in New York, surely. He'll need cash from somewhere."

"Dinner and a movie says we'll find him at the Carlisle, or a hotel nearby, and that Helen's credit card will be mixed up in it somehow."

"You're on," Lilly said. "I'll make sure NYPD has people in place."

"I'll see if our computer guys can put a watch on Helen's credit card spending, see if she suddenly needs a second hotel room or plane ticket," Scotty said. He didn't care if they caught Jeremy on a plane to Senegal - if they did, he'd owe Lilly dinner and a movie. If he was right and they caught him in Helen's hotel room's fancy marble bathtub, Lilly would owe _him_ dinner and a movie. It was a date either way. He hoped he'd get to see the look on her face when she figured out that fact.

Lilly flipped open her cellphone and made the call, watching Scotty do the same. It was nice that he seemed as excited at their progress as she was, she mused while she spoke to the NYPD officer on the other end of the line. It was almost as though he was coming around to her way of thinking and...wait a minute. She froze as she replayed their conversation in her mind. Did she just agree to go on a date with him?

From the other side of the hallway, Scotty saw her face and grinned.

---------

The search of Bill Reeve's office and home yielded nothing except a torrent of abuse from Reeve's wife, icy glares from Natalie and a slew of headaches. NYPD reported no movement from the Carlisle, save that Helen had made a trip to a nearby ATM to withdraw a large amount of cash. There had been no sign of Jeremy.

Dinner time found the detectives of the cold case squad gathered in the break room, sharing out greasy portions of chinese food. The mood was slightly tense. No matter which way it turned out, they were at the end of the case; the desire to close it and move on to the next one was at an all time high. Scotty stood with the break room bench digging into the small of his back, eating straight out of the cardboard box the food had come in. No chopsticks for him - he didn't believe in waging a war with his food just to get it in his mouth. From where he stood he could watch Lilly as she dextrously wielded her own eating utensils; despite using chopsticks he hadn't seen her drop so much as a grain of rice. Unbelievable. She should have been a surgeon.

No one said it, but they were all waiting for the phone call, the one that would tell them Jeremy Morville had been arrested. There was no other reason for them to be hanging around the office; they'd done just about everything they could do on the case for the moment, and it would have been a good opportunity to get home at a reasonable hour. Yet when Vera suggested chinese, there was enthusiastic agreement. None of them really wanted to be at home, Scotty thought, not while there was a vigil to be maintained. None of them wanted to be at home when the phone call came.

The others were maintaining a vigil, that was; Scotty was fighting a battle with himself. The lines had been drawn up, the armies assembled, and the smell of cannon smoke was in the air. The prize to be fought over? The hand of the fair damsel Lilly, currently with a mouthful of chicken and cashews and a silly grin on her face from a joke cracked by Vera that Scotty barely heard. He'd almost, _almost_ made up his mind to say something to her. _Hey, I lied earlier. I really do wanna make out with you again. Is that okay?_ Only nicer than that, of course. His little baby bird heart had reached the very edge of the nest and was looking down at the ground way below and wondering if maybe it wasn't worth taking the chance. Maybe he'd fall on his face with a resounding splat. Maybe he'd soar.

Ah, but God, this was difficult. This was rest of his life stuff, something that could affect his whole future, and he just couldn't bring himself to take that final step and tell her what he was feeling. The food he was trying to eat stuck in his throat as he tried to picture her face when - _if_ - he told her. Try as he might he couldn't picture anything other than horrified panic.

Maybe he should just stay quiet.

The phone call came as Jefferies was handing out fortune cookies. It was Stillman's cell that rang, and he stepped out of the break room to take it while the others all exchanged expectant glances. Lilly swallowed her last mouthful with difficulty around the lump of anticipation that had leapt into her throat. The bullpen had thinned out over the last hour; only a few detectives remained at their desks, working on the last of the day's paperwork and ignoring the enticing scent of chinese coming from the break room. Stillman could talk here without being distracted by stares. Vera snapped open his cookie as he watched the other man speak. "You will find what you have wished for," he said, reading his fortune. "Guess they've found Morville, then."

Kat opened hers, also keeping an eye on her boss. "Hey, mine says the same thing. You will find what you have wished for."

"Mine, too," Jefferies said. "Think we should have a word with the cookie company?"

"Variety is the spice of life," Vera said. "What's your's say, Scotty?"

Scotty snapped his cookie open, read the fortune inside, and folded it quickly. "Yeah, same thing," he lied, feeling his heart pounding. "Lil?"

Her graceful fingers had extracted her fortune as he'd been speaking, and he watched as she read it. If possible, she went even paler than normal and crumpled the paper into a loose ball. "Same thing," she said, with a quick, nervous glance at Scotty. Scotty's eyes narrowed. He couldn't always tell when she wasn't being truthful - she could give an Oscar-worthy performance in the interview room when she needed to - but he would bet money she was lying now. The question was, why? Was it the same reason he'd lied himself?

The others didn't notice: at that moment Stillman reappeared in the doorway, looking relieved. "That was the NYPD," he said. "They just picked up Jeremy Morville. Helen Wilson developed the sudden need to pay for two rooms at the Carlisle instead of one, then ordered room service to both of them. Morville was in the second room, and apparently not very happy to be missing out on his _penne napolitano_."

"What'd I tell you?" Vera said triumphantly. "Fortune cookies never lie."

"He'll be back here by lunch time tomorrow," Stillman said. "And apparently we owe al-Masri and Ramirez of the NYPD a bottle of scotch."

"Hey, if Morville tells us what we need to know, I'll buy them a whole damn _case_," Vera said.

"I'll hold you to that, Nick," Stillman said. "Go home, people. Get some rest. You've done all you can do here."

As the others started to pack up the remains of their dinner and make jokes about the fortune cookies, Scotty and Lilly remained where they were, pensive. When Scotty glanced at his partner he noticed how far away she seemed, like she wasn't even in the room. She should have been celebrating with the others; she had Jeremy, or would in a few short hours, and she'd finally be able to find out what had really happened the night Nicholas had died. But instead of acting pleased she seemed preoccupied and distant, like there was a great weight on her mind. Scotty's eyes dropped to the mysterious cookie fortune she'd crumpled up and tossed onto the table in front of her. While Stillman had been speaking the paper had slowly unravelled itself, and from where Scotty was standing he could just manage to make out the upside-down words. He felt a puzzled smile spread across his face. No wonder Lilly hadn't wanted anyone else to read it.

_Life is very short, much too short for needless fear._ The exact words Kevin had spoken to them earlier that morning.

Scotty felt the weight of his own fortune, still crumpled into a ball in his hands. He hadn't wanted anyone to read his, either. He unfolded it and reread it, puzzling over the message it contained. It was a single word; simple, short, and as heavy and complex as the complete works of Shakespeare. The word burned into his eyes, seared itself onto his mind and dug its way deep into his heart. He read it again, glanced up at Lilly and back down at the paper held in slightly shaking hands. Right. Was he really thinking of placing his entire future in the hands of a mysterious one worded message found in a fortune cookie? He must be mad.

He looked up again, and found that she was watching him silently. As their gazes met, her eyes softened and her lips curved into a gentle smile. It was all the encouragement he needed.

"Walk you to your station?" he asked.

"Sure."

Scotty read the message one last time before folding it carefully and placing it in his inside coat pocket, close to his heart, as if having the word close to him would give him courage. He could feel it speeding its way around his veins, working itself into his bones. He drew a deep breath.

_Leap_.

----------

End of Chapter Ten. Please leave a review.


	11. Silent Night

Tis The Season by Henabrey

See Chapter One for more details.

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Chapter Eleven: Silent Night

----------

The streets were virtually deserted; it was so cold most people had stayed indoors with hot chocolate and cranked-up central heating rather than venture out to theatres and restaurants. The night sky was clear above Lilly's head as she walked to her station with Scotty by her side. Through the hazy light pollution thrown out by the city's millions of lights she could see a blanket of stars painting the inky blackness with razor sharp diamonds of light. It was cold enough to make her face numb and she huddled helplessly into her coat and scarf, wishing she owned one of those Russian fur hats - it seemed the only thing that would be able to keep her head warm.

Scotty seemed preoccupied with the weather too; he was silent and hunched as they walked. It suited Lilly not to talk - the mysterious message she'd found in her fortune cookie was weighing on her thoughts. How was it possible that her fortune could echo so precisely the words Kevin Morgan had spoken to her only that morning? And what meaning should she take from the coincidence?

She glanced at Scotty, who was studying the ground in front of him like there were words written there. It was to him that her thoughts fled. She was afraid of him. Or afraid of her feelings for him and where those feelings might take her if she let them. _Life is short, much too short for needless fear_. It was as though someone somewhere had read her mind and was doing their best to encourage her in a direction she wasn't sure she wanted to take. She could almost believe it was Nicholas, reaching out to help her from beyond the grave.

Yes, life was short. A homicide detective knew that better than just about anyone. But that didn't mean you had to risk making your short life miserable by opening yourself up to pain and anguish, did it? Did it? In theory, Lilly knew that opening yourself up to pain and anguish was also the only way to experience true joy in life - only by risking failure could you truly achieve success - but in practice it was something she had struggled with her entire existence.

Right now, she had the prospect of a relationship with her partner before her. Plenty of potential pain and anguish there, alright. Worse than usual. It was why she'd shut down any idea of it back in Central Park, making it clear not only to herself but to Scotty that it could never happen. It was the automatic reaction of the cautious, scared side of her nature. It was just...since then, the prospect had crept back into her mind unawares. She was doing her best to ignore it, to shut it down and banish it back to where it had come from. But every time she looked at Scotty, she wanted to kiss him, and she wanted to feel his hands caress her. Her and Scotty...the idea just wouldn't go away. Plenty of potential pain and anguish lurked between them.

But she suspected there was plenty of potential joy, as well.

The train station was as deserted as the streets had been. Only a young man in scruffy clothing sat at the other end of the platform, bopping to a song playing only in his head. He ignored the new arrivals in favour of the screen of his cellphone, thumb moving in time to his mental music as he typed a message. A stray cat poked cautiously among a leftover burger that lay discarded on the station's floor.

"I'm probably good now, thanks, Scotty," Lilly said, turning to face him.

"I'll wait," Scotty said, shifting from one foot to the other.

Lilly smiled. He was ever the gentleman when it came to women, the sort who'd hold the door open for you without even thinking about it. His inherent courtesy meant he'd wait here on the platform with her all night if he needed to without seeing his actions as anything unusual. It was sweet.

They fell silent again. Lilly had her train's timetable memorised, and she thought there was maybe only five minutes until the next one came along. Just as well - it wasn't much warmer here on the platform than it had been outside. Scotty still seemed disinclined to talk. He seemed to be weighing something on his mind, and she wondered if it had anything to do with his fortune cookie. She was adept at reading people - that's what made her such a successful detective - and she'd seen straight away that he hadn't been any more truthful about the contents of his cookie as she had. And was it for the same reason she'd lied? She'd seen him fold the paper up and put it in his coat pocket, which was the first time she could ever recall seeing someone actually keep a fortune cookie's fortune. Was there something written on there that was important to him, that filled his head with thoughts and rendered him silent? She wondered what he would do if she reached over and took it from where it lay, close to his heart. She didn't quite dare, short life or no short life.

Finally, just as the distant clacks of the approaching train could just be heard over the muted roar of the inefficient heating system, Scotty heaved a sigh and straightened his shoulders. He seemed to have reached some sort of decision, and, sure enough, a second later he spoke. "Lil, I...uh...I need to talk to you."

"Sure," she said, seized with a sudden sense of foreboding. Why did she get the idea she wasn't going to enjoy the conversation? "Go ahead."

"It's...well...it's about what happened before. In New York." He was scuffing one foot around, looking nervous.

"What about it?" She'd rather not be discussing that particular subject. Her willpower to withstand her feelings was low enough as it was without him reminding her of their kiss, memorable as it was.

"I wasn't exactly honest with you."

"When? Which part?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking utterly terrified. The noise of the train grew louder, and Lilly knew it was just out of sight. The young man at the other end of the platform looked up in expectation without ceasing his busy movements.

"Scotty?" It was something bad, she knew. He was going to tell her it had all just been a joke, and he'd only gone along with the kiss because he wanted to see how far she'd take it, and really he didn't even think of her that way anyway, and...wait. Wouldn't that actually be a good thing?

He just stared at her, seemingly unable to speak. As she watched, his hand reached up unconsciously to his coat pocket where she'd seen him place the fortune earlier. He patted the fabric and sighed again. His face filled with resolve.

"The part where I agreed with you about not wantin' it to happen again."

Oh. Oh, _God._ She felt her lips part in a silent gasp just as the train arrived in a screeching whoosh. The young man got to his feet. Lilly couldn't have moved at that moment if the station had been on fire. "What?"

"Yeah," he said, and then he moved from being unable to speak to being unable to stop, the words tumbling over themselves in his hurry to express himself. "I do want it to happen again. I want _more_ than that to happen. I want to...to take you out to dinner, and buy you flowers, and hold your hand, and, and make you feel wanted. Needed. I have..._feelings_ for you, and unless I'm totally misreading things I think you maybe have feelings for me, too. I want to act on them. I was too chickenshit to say it earlier because I was scared of losin' your friendship, but I'm sayin' it now. I want a relationship."

Lilly had a vague notion of the train waiting for her with an impatient electrical hum, but she was frozen to the spot. She'd turned into a solid block of startled ice. She was unable to take her eyes off him. She wasn't even sure she was _breathing_.

"I'll understand if you say no," Scotty went on. "But don't say no because you're scared it might all go wrong. It's like Kevin said this mornin', you can't just not try somethin' cause you're scared of gettin' hurt. It's no way to live. If you've got other reasons, I'll respect that, and I hope you'll still be able to work with me. And I'll always be your friend. But, please, tell me you'll think of bein' somethin' more than that."

The train started to make its starting up noises, getting ready to leave for the next station, and she made an effort to move. "Scotty, I -"

"Promise me you'll at least think about it."

"I...Scotty, the train..." it was a Herculean effort, but she managed to tear herself away from him and make a run for the train. The young man looked at her oddly as she arrived breathless and flustered in the carriage. She still had a second - the doors were still open. She turned to look at Scotty, standing forlorn and alone on the platform. Not sure why she did it, not even stopping to ponder her actions, she leaned out of the doorway and called to him. "I'll think about it!"

The doors whooshed closed, barely missing her as she pulled herself back inside. As the train started to rumble its way out of the station, she looked through the glass windows of the carriage and found Scotty's eyes. He was smiling.

Lilly took her seat, mind whirling. Why did she do that? She wasn't really thinking of it, was she? Was she? But, my God. He had feelings for her. He wanted a relationship with her. And there was a spreading, hopeful feeling of joy inside her, warring with the fear of intimacy that was her constant companion. She was going to get very little sleep tonight with the thoughts and feelings and confusion creating a hurricane in her head. She looked around the carriage in bewilderment, and found the young man from the station's eyes resting on her.

"Honey, what's there to think about?" he asked her. "The man's _gorgeous_."

No, no sleep whatsoever tonight.

_Crap_.

----------

Scotty had just seated himself at the table in the break room just after nine the next morning when he saw Lilly walk through the door to the homicide bullpen. She looked terrible, he thought, like she hadn't got any sleep the night before. He felt a small pang of guilt which was quickly swallowed by the elation he'd been feeling since he'd spoken to her the night before. It had gone better than he'd expected. He hadn't made a total fool of himself, Lilly hadn't seemed horrified by what he was saying - panicked, yes, but not horrified - and best of all she'd promised to think about it. Even if she said no later on, at least he'd told her his feelings. Nicholas would have been proud of him. And if she said yes...well, that would feel like he'd won the lottery.

Life was good.

Lilly, having left her gun in her locker and her coat on the back of her chair, was heading in his direction in search of coffee. She saw him, hesitated, and kept walking.

"Mornin'," he said when she reached the doorway to the break room.

"Hey," she said, sounding a little nervous. She shuffled back and forth a little, clearly not sure what to do, before making her way to the coffee machine.

"I poured you a cup already," Scotty told her, seeing her searching for her favourite mug. Actually, he'd wanted to buy her a serve of her favourite coffee from the best coffee place in Philadelphia, but he didn't want her to feel he was pressuring her. He knew pushing her would be the surest way of making her flee like a frightened deer. Slow and gentle, that was the way. No pressure. It would be hard, but if it would get Lilly by his side in the end he was prepared to go without flirting, without touching, without even speaking to her about anything other than the case in front of them. So he'd poured her a cup of black sludge instead of buying the good stuff.

"Oh," she said, looking at the second cup on the table in front of Scotty. "Thanks."

There was another small moment of hesitation on her part, while she decided where to drink it, before she pulled herself into a chair opposite him. She glanced at him briefly and smiled before her gaze skittered away to her coffee mug. They drank in silence, Scotty being careful not to stare at her too much.

"You ready for Jeremy?" He asked her finally, studying her over the rim of his mug.

"Yeah," she said, glancing at him again. "Can't wait."

There was silence again, heavy as the summer air before a storm, until Lilly cleared her throat. "I'm still thinking about it," she said shyly.

"Take your time," he assured her, surprised she was bringing up the subject without being prodded. "As long as you need."

"Thanks, Scotty," she said, and her perfect eyes found his again for the briefest of moments. She reached out and awkwardly squeezed his hand before she just about flew out of her seat and fled to the bullpen, leaving her half drunk coffee on the table. Scotty hid his smile behind his hand.

She was _thinking_ about it. Oh yes, life was good.

----------

Jeremy Morville arrived at PPD headquarters a little before noon, escorted by two police officers and a lawyer, who, apart from wearing a different tie and a moustache, looked exactly the same as Bill Reeve's attorney. Obviously came from the same factory, Scotty thought as he watched the procession enter the interview room.

Jeremy took his place in the chair facing the two way mirror, his lawyer pulling a chair up next to him and setting his briefcase neatly by his side. Jeremy looked defeated and dispirited, which was good for Scotty and the rest of the squad. Jeremy looked like he was tired of running and fighting and just wanted to be left alone, and a man in that condition wasn't likely to withhold the information they needed for very long. He sat with his head down, studying the table, while his lawyer kept up a continuous hiss of instructions in his ear.

Behind Scotty, there was a cacophony of chairs creaking and being scraped back from desks as Vera, Jefferies and Miller left the bullpen for the observation room. Stillman, who'd been watching Jeremy arrive from the doorway to his office, joined them, leaving just Scotty and Lilly at their desks.

Scotty glanced over at Lilly, seeing that she'd already gathered Nicholas' file together and was half out of her desk. _You ready?_

She looked back, quirked one eyebrow. _Let's do it._

Jeremy looked at them with bleary eyes as they entered the interview room. He still looked like someone fresh out of high school, but the bright and eager young man they knew had been replaced by someone who looked like they were in the middle of their final exams and had pulled an all-nighter for the fourth night in a row. Defeated, Scotty thought again.

"Jeremy Morville," he said, taking a seat at the table opposite the lawyer clone. "You're a hard man to get in touch with."

Jeremy said nothing. The lawyer clone folded his arms. "I've advised my client not to speak," he said with a frown.

"Oh, that's cool," said Scotty. "We'll do the talking. Jeremy here can just nod when we get close to the truth. Okay, Jeremy?" Jeremy met his gaze briefly before dropping his eyes back down to the table, his face mutely thunderous.

Lilly, meanwhile, was wandering from one side of the small room to the other, pale against the worn dark tiles of the walls. "So, you didn't want to talk to us yesterday," she said. "Thought you'd go on the run, instead, right?"

Jeremy studied the tabletop.

"But you didn't cover your tracks too well," she went on. "I mean, first you use your credit card to buy gas in Jersey, so we'd know which direction you were heading in. And _then_ -" she gave a half laugh - "you go and seek help from the _one_ person in New York City we have reason to put a watch on."

Jeremy sighed.

"And then you end up staying in the same hotel room as her, paid for by her credit card. You even get room service on her dime. Have I left anything out?" She circled behind Jeremy, came up close beside him and placed one hand on the tabletop right in front of him, leaning over him. "Jeremy, you run like a girl."

Jeremy's hands clenched slightly, but he stayed silent.

"You know what I think?" Lilly went on, in a gentle voice, still close enough to him to count the beads of sweat dotting his brow. "I think you're a smart man. I mean, you got through law school, right? Gotta be pretty smart to do that. But you _suck_ at dodging the law. A six year old could do a better job."

"What's your point?" Jeremy asked in a gravely voice. He sounded like he hadn't used it for some time.

"My point is, I think you wanted to get caught on purpose."

"No."

"Not consciously maybe, but somewhere inside you, deep down..." Lilly reached over to the only spare chair in the room, pulled it over and sank into it. She was sitting side-on to Jeremy, her knees an inch from his leg. Her hand rested on the table close to his. "Deep down, I think you're tired of running from the truth."

Jeremy made a strange wuffling noise.

"You've been covering for your boss, all this time." She caught Scotty's eye, who nodded, agreeing with her tactic. Best way to get Jeremy to implicate himself was to go after Reeve. "It must be exhausting."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Scotty took over. "We know what happened earlier in the evening, with Jerry Pullman and his knife, Jeremy." Jeremy looked up, showing no surprise. "That knife was the murder weapon, and we got two witnesses can put it in Bill Reeve's possession."

"But you're our star witness, Jeremy," Lilly continued. "You were there, you saw what happened. You can tell us exactly what went down."

"No," Jeremy said, shaking his head. There was a definite wobble in his voice, like he was brimming with unshed tears. "I can't."

"Yes, you can, Jeremy," Lilly said, laying her hand on his arm. He started. "Aren't you tired of the lies and deceit? Aren't you tired of walking around with this burden? Now's your chance. Get it off your chest."

Jeremy's face worked. The lawyer next to him started to speak, but was quelled into silence by Scotty's glare.

"Start at the beginning, Jeremy," Lilly implored. "Just...just tell us what happened to the knife after Reeve took it from Jerry. What happened when Jerry left the building?"

There was a long, drawn out moment of silence. Lilly and Scotty waited, hearts in mouths. It was now or never. It was only a matter of time before the lawyer shut him up, and there'd be a good chance they'd _never_ find out the truth if that happened. If Jeremy didn't start talking in the next few seconds...

He drew a deep, shaky breath, and Lilly let hers out. She hadn't realised she'd been holding it. Jeremy started to speak, in a quavery voice a little above a whisper, and those listening had to strain to hear it. "I was scared..."

----------

_The air stank of urine and fear._ _The shambling wreck of a man had stumbled back out of the front door to the offices, and Jeremy could hear the ding of the elevator as it slid itself closed, taking Jerry away from the scene of his humiliation. There was silence in the office lobby itself, save for Mr Reeve's quick, agitated breathing. Jeremy realised he'd been holding his own breath, let it out in a shaky sigh. It was over. He'd been so afraid of seeing blood spilled hot and urgent on the expensive carpets of the offices, first his own and then the young man's, and he could scarcely believe that the incident had ended without bloodshed. He found himself looking at his hands, checking for cuts and scratches. There were none. There was no sign of what had just occurred save for Jerry's rapidly depleting miasma and the weapons in Mr Reeve's hands._

_"Well," said Mr Reeve, pocketing the gun. "That was a bit of excitement, wasn't it?"_

_"Do you want me to call the police?"_

_"What? Oh, no, no, that won't be necessary." Mr Reeve weighed the knife in his hands, like he was making a decision. "It was just a misunderstanding, right?"_

_"Uh, right..."_

_"No, it's that Santa Claus that's the problem. What a troublemaker he is! I'll have to offer him more money."_

_"Do you think that will work?" Jeremy asked nervously._

_"Every man has his price, Jeremy! I just have to find this fellow's." He handed the knife to Jeremy. "Here, deal with this, will you? That's a good chap. Just...just toss it in the river or something. No one need know what happened here. It'll be our little secret."_

_"Okay, Mr Reeve, whatever you say." The knife found it's way to Jeremy's pocket, and he walked over to the office's front door. "But what will we do about Santa Claus?"_

_"Oh, leave him to me, Jeremy! Every man has his price, after all. Money, that's what it'll take. No need for violence at all. No need whatsoever. And we definitely don't need to murder him! Now, run along!"_

_"Okay, Mr Reeve." As the door to the offices swung closed, Jeremy could see Mr Reeve waving goodbye, cheerful smile on his face._

_----------_

Scotty looked at Lilly. Lilly looked back at Scotty. They both looked at Jeremy. Even the lawyer looked round at his client with a disbelieving stare. There was silence for a few seconds.

"Jeremy," Lilly said slowly, "please promise me you'll never go into fiction writing. You're about as successful at that as you were running from the law."

Jeremy blushed and looked at the table. "That's what happened," he mumbled.

"Yeah," said Scotty. "And I'm the Easter Bunny. I'm hidin' a fluffy white tail in my shorts."

Lilly's face twitched. "Jeremy. Just tell us the truth."

"That _was_ the truth," Jeremy insisted.

"Try again," Scotty said.

"You must be tired of lying," Lilly cajoled. "You're not even very good at it. Don't you just want it all to end? Just tell us what happened, and this will all go away. Just let it be over."

Jeremy looked at the ceiling, tears in his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Just tell us what happened," Lilly said, half-whispering. "Finish it."

His breath caught on a sob as he started to speak in a halting, awkward fashion, sounding as though he were speaking around a lump in his throat. "I was scared..."

----------

_The air stank of urine and fear._ _The shambling wreck of a man had stumbled back out of the front door to the offices, and Jeremy could hear the ding of the elevator as it slid itself closed, taking Jerry away from the scene of his humiliation. There was silence in the office lobby itself, save for Mr Reeve's quick, agitated breathing. Jeremy realised he'd been holding his own breath, let it out in a shaky sigh. It was over. He'd been so afraid of seeing blood spilled hot and urgent on the expensive carpets of the offices, first his own and then the young man's, and he could scarcely believe that the incident had ended without bloodshed. He found himself looking at his hands, checking for cuts and scratches. There were none. There was no sign of what had just occurred save for Jerry's rapidly depleting miasma and the weapons in Mr Reeve's hands._

_"Goddamn it," Mr Reeve was saying in a low and angry voice. "That goddamn punk."_

_"Do you want me to call the police?"_

_"That shit-licking goddamn motherfucking son of a putrescent cock-sucking _whore_!" Mr Reeve said, growing louder with each word. Jeremy winced. He'd never admit it, but he found himself afraid of Mr Reeve when Mr Reeve got into these moods, something that had been happening quite a lot the last few weeks._

_"He's gone, Mr Reeve. You scared him off, and -"_

_"Not _him_, goddamn it! Santa Claus! Sister-fucking Santa Claus with his I'm-such-a-fucking-do-gooder act thinking he can change the fucking world! I'm so fucking sick of it!"_

_"Quite right, Mr Reeve. You're -"_

_"This has gone on quite far enough. It was bad enough we had to get every fucking no-hoper in the city through the fucking doors looking for fucking charity worker John Wilson. Now we've got fuckers with fucking _knives_ in here! I've had it!"_

_"But what can we -"_

_"We need _action_, Jeremy. Do you hear me? Action." He turned to Jeremy and laid the hand holding the knife on his shoulder. Jeremy could feel the flat of the blade pressing against him. He remembered how it had felt to hold it. It was so terrifyingly deadly, such a heady, horrifying feeling of power in his veins. He didn't like it being so close again. The snake's head on the handle seemed to beckon him. "This Santa Claus needs to be shut down, and now. Before the next guy with a knife shows up. You hear me?"_

_"Yes, Mr Reeve, but how -"_

_"There's got to be a way, Jeremy. Santa Claus can't be left to run our lives however he goddamn likes. I don't care what it takes. He just needs to go away."_

_His gaze drifted from the knife to Jeremy's eyes. Jeremy tried to read his expression, but it was like looking into the darkest reaches of space. Empty. Malevolent in its blankness._

_"Deal with this, Jeremy, would you?" Mr Reeve asked, and Jeremy realised the knife had been transferred into his own hand. His fingers closed on the handle. "I don't care what you do with it. Just get it out of here."_

_"And...and Santa Claus?"_

_Mr Reeve smiled. It looked like the smile of a corpse drawn stiff by rigour mortis. "The knife, Jeremy. Just deal with it."_

_The knife found its way into his pocket, and he found his way into the hallway outside the offices, leaving Mr Reeve and his grinning skull's smile behind._

_----------_

"I really was going to kill him," Jeremy said. "I really meant to. But by the time I got downstairs I'd chickened out. I'm no killer."

"So what did you do?" Lilly asked softly.

"There's a dumpster in the alleyway next to the building," Jeremy said. "I threw the knife in there and left."

"And Reeve?"

"I was at my bus stop five minutes later, saw him drive past in his car."

"Uh huh," Lilly said. "Well, thank you, Jeremy. You've given us exactly what we wanted."

"I have?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "I mean, you can't tell me that someone who wanted to kill Santa Claus just happened to be digging around in the dumpster just after you put the knife in there. What are the odds of that? I've got more chance of being elected the next president than that. No, someone had to have seen you, known what you were doing, and have a good reason for wanting that knife."

Jeremy looked at her, confused.

"Bill Reeve, of course!" She said, feigning glee. "Just who we thought was the killer."

"You've been a real help," put in Scotty.

"What? No!" Jeremy said with desperation. "It wasn't him, I swear it!"

"But it's gotta be him," Scotty said. "He's got the best motive out of any of you. His alibi don't quite stack up, he was in possession of the murder weapon right before the murder, and he knew you were goin' to dispose of it."

"No."

"I'll bet he changed his mind about dealin' with Santa Claus, followed you out of the buildin', saw where you tossed the knife, and grabbed it."

"_No."_

_"_Then he got in his car, cause it was cold and he didn't want to walk, and he drove round to where Santa Claus lived, and he stabbed him. It's perfect. There could be a reward in this for you, Jeremy. Aren't you glad you got caught after all?"

"But it wasn't him," Jeremy said, his lower lip wobbling. Lilly had never seen him look younger. "You gotta believe me, it wasn't him!"

"We'll just type up a statement," Lilly said, closing the file she'd been holding and tapping it with one finger, "and once you sign it you'll be free to go. That was painless, wasn't it?"

"_It wasn't him!_"

"You sound very definite, Jeremy. How can you be so sure?"

There was silence while Jeremy's face went through a series of contortions, each more tortured than the last. He looked as though he was in agony, and it was plain he was struggling to free something that had been buried inside him for a long time. Scotty looked over at Lilly. Was her theory about to be proved true?

"Jeremy?" Lilly asked, in her softest and gentlest tone. She laid a hand on Jeremy's. "How can you be so sure?"

A single tear tracked a desperate path down his cheek and he let out a soft, sad sigh. "Because...because it was me. I killed him."

Lilly flicked a glance over at Scotty, noting the _a-ha!­ _look in his eye that echoed the one she knew must be in hers, then at the two way mirror behind him. She was right. She wished she weren't. "You did it, Jeremy?"

A second tear joined the first, and he angrily wiped it away as he nodded. "Yeah..."

"Tell us what happened," Lilly said.

"Not another word," the lawyer said, suddenly finding his voice. "I must insist. Jeremy, not another -"

"I'm tired," Jeremy said, cutting the other man off. "So tired. I just want it over with."

"Tell us," Scotty said. "You had the knife in your pocket, and..."

Jeremy drew in a deep breath and began. "And I was going to throw it away. I meant to throw it away..."

---------

_There was a dumpster in the alleyway sandwiched between Wilson & Reeve's office building and the one next door, and instead of heading straight to his bus stop the way he normally would after leaving work, Jeremy made his way the six feet or so down the narrow, cold gap and paused in front of the large, overflowing bin. He'd dump the knife in there. No one would ever find it. It would get mixed in with all the trash and cardboard boxes and shredded paper that filled the dumpster and nobody would ever know it was there._

_The streets were deserted, and no one walked past the alley's opening to see him standing there, one hand in his pocket clenched around the snake's-head handle of the knife. His hand wouldn't draw the knife. He was trying, really he was trying, but his hand wouldn't cooperate. It was like it didn't want to throw the knife away. Absurd._

_He had Mr Reeve's face in his mind, the way he looked back there in the office building, like the empty reaches of space, like a black hole. Why couldn't he be the way he usually was, just like the father he'd lost? If Mr Reeve knew how Jeremy looked up to him, how much he depended on him for guidance, he'd never act this way._

_It was that Santa Claus. He was the one who had spoiled things. It was because of him that Mr Reeve was angry more often than not these days, that there were whispers of change echoing through the corridors of Wilson & Reeve, that Mr Wilson looked frustrated and disenchanted, that Natalie - ah, God! Natalie - was starting to talk about looking for another job. It was all going down the drain, all of it. The job he loved, the man he looked on as a mentor, the woman he adored from afar, it was all spilling out through his fingers like sand. He was going to lose it all._

_And it was Santa Claus' fault._

_It was cold in the alleyway, even out of the chill wind that blew through the streets, and he was going to freeze to death standing here because he was incapable of throwing away the knife. Would it hurt, going back to see Santa? He'd tried talking to him, Mr Reeve had tried talking to him, Mr Reeve had even offered him a fortune to leave town, and the man was still standing on the street corner spreading his hateful, poisonous words of life-changing encouragement to whoever cared to listen. He hadn't responded to conversation or money. Maybe he'd respond to a big, sharp knife with a snake's head for a handle._

_Jeremy wasn't sure he could pull it off and look threatening enough to scare the guy, even with the knife. But he thought of Mr Reeve, and he thought of Natalie, and he thought of having to do the rounds of the other law firms in town with resume in hand, and his resolve hardened. He became as cold and sharp and merciless as the knife in his pocket, and he turned away from the dumpster and started to walk._

_Santa Claus wasn't on his usual street corner, but not far up the street Jeremy saw a familiar flash of red disappearing into an alleyway, and he headed that way, feet making little sound on the wet pavement. It was a dark night, the clouds above pregnant with snow, and when he wasn't walking directly under the streetlights Jeremy vanished entirely into the shadows. He found Santa Claus just inside the alleyway, where the light from the nearby street lamp started to wane. He was helping a stray cat, patiently unwinding a piece of cord that had become tangled around the animal's neck._

_"Well, you're just a regular saint, aren't you?" Jeremy said, trying to sound tough around the lump in his throat._

_Santa straightened and fixed Jeremy with a calm and patient gaze. "Jeremy Morville," he said. The cat, freed from its noose, leapt from his arms and fled further into the alley with a quiet meow._

_"You know why I'm here," Jeremy said, fingering the blade's handle in his pocket._

_Santa regarded him silently for a moment before turning and heading into the alleyway. He stopped about twelve feet in, where there was a fire burning cheerily in a steel drum. The flickering light gave his quiet face an animated glow as he warmed his hands. "It is cold tonight," he said eventually. "Yes, Jeremy, I know why you are here. You are here because you have made your choice."_

_"There was no choice to make." He was having trouble meeting the other man's eyes, such a piercing shade of blue. _

_"There is always a choice, Jeremy Morville."_

_"Not for me," Jeremy said. "I know where my loyalties lie. I'm loyal to Mr Reeve. I'm loyal to the firm. And you - you're destroying it. You're spoiling everything."_

_"All I am doing is trying to help your other employer to find a better way of life, Jeremy, and if your firm suffers for that, then -"_

_"Suffers?" Jeremy said, with a laugh. He drew the knife from his pocket and waved it at Santa, who showed no reaction. "You see this? A man came to the office today with this. He _threatened_ me and Mr Reeve! We could have been hurt! I'd call that suffering, wouldn't you?"_

_"I am sorry for that," Santa said, a look of sadness descending over his face._

_"Oh, you're _sorry_?" Jeremy said, growing angrier. His voice rose involuntarily until he was almost yelling, and he fought to control himself. He didn't need anyone investigating the noise and find him holding a knife. "He was there because of _you_! Because you can't keep your nose out of other people's business, and you can't just let things stay the way they were, can you? You just have to keep meddling!"_

_"I do not call it meddling, Jeremy. All I do is try to help people to find happiness."_

_"_I'm_ not happy," Jeremy cried. "Mr Reeve's not happy. Our clients aren't happy about having whores and bums in our waiting room. You don't care about that, though, do you?"_

_"I care. I care very much."_

_"But you won't stop, will you?" Jeremy said, finally realising. "It doesn't matter what I say, or how much money Mr Reeve offers you, or how many people threaten you with knives, you'll just never stop, will you?"_

_"I cannot, Jeremy," Santa said, and the sad look deepened into one of bottomless grief. "We are each of us here for a reason, and I can no more stop what I do than stop the sun from rising. The question is, why are you here? What is _your_ reason for being here? I cannot believe it is just for this moment, this act you are about to commit."_

_"What am I supposed to do?" Jeremy asked, his grip tightening around the snake's head handle of the knife. "You're damaging. And you have to be stopped before you destroy the whole firm."_

_"Please, Jeremy," Santa said. "Think about what you are here for. This moment, this second, this is the rest of your life you are shaping. It is still not too late."_

_"Shut up!" Jeremy hissed. "Just shut up! I'm so sick of you and your cryptic nonsense!"_

_"Jeremy -"_

_"You need to be stopped," Jeremy said, a white hot coat of rage blanketing him with a strangely comforting numbness. He felt like he was watching himself from a distance. "You need to leave us all alone. You need to stay away from Mr Wilson. You need to stop sending people to the office. You need to stay out of our lives!"_

_"I cannot," Santa said._

_"YOU CAN AND YOU WILL!" he nearly screamed, and without even thinking about it he raised the knife and plunged it deep into the other man's chest. Blood sprayed. Santa's breath left his body in a whoosh and he staggered. _

_"I am sorry for you, Jeremy," he said, gasping, blood frothing at the corners of his mouth._

_Jeremy might have stopped there, have even tried to help him, but once again the image of Mr Reeve rose before his eyes. He thought of Natalie. He thought of the firm finally being able to return to normal. He thought of Mr Reeve maybe making him a partner one day, of being his friend, and before he knew it the knife had flown through the air, once, twice, three times, striking like a hawk, and Santa Claus had slid down the wall of the alleyway to lie in a heap on the ground, and all Jeremy could see was blackness. His mind went completely blank._

_Minutes passed. The stars whirled overhead. A siren wailed a long way away, then died. A dog barked. And then Jeremy drew in a great, shuddering lungful of air as cold and sharp as the knife he held. The knife. He looked down at it stupidly, wondering why it was suddenly sticky and wet, and then he realised._

_Blood. Oh, God, there was blood everywhere. He could see it by the flickering light of the fire, on his hands, on his shirt front, on the knife, on the mushed up snow on the ground, on the body lying up against the wall like a crumpled doll. Sightless blue eyes staring out into the night. That look of sadness still there like it was branded on._

_Jeremy knelt and lifted one trembling hand to Santa's throat, feeling for a pulse. There was none. He felt his stomach roll in protest. He had killed him. He was a murderer. The knife slipped out of his hand and landed with a small metallic clatter on the ground_

_"Oh, God," he said around a sob, and it was startlingly loud in the quiet night. "Oh, God." What was Mr Reeve going to say when he found out? How would Natalie look at him? Oh, Christ, what was he going to do?_

_"Think," he whispered, and he couldn't. He'd killed a man. There was blood on his hands. There was blood on Santa's face, blood on the white tip of his stupid Santa hat that hung low and crooked over his forehead. Jeremy reached up, lifted the hat off the other man's - off the _body's_ - head, and gently wiped the blood from his face. Better. He looked like he might have been sleeping, if it weren't for the wide open eyes. Jeremy knew he was imagining it, but he almost thought the eyes looked accusatory. Look what you've done, Jeremy Morville. Take a good long look. Jeremy placed the hat neatly over Santa's face, covering his eyes. Much better. He could have been sleeping._

_He couldn't stay there any longer, staring at his work. He was going to be sick if he stayed there another minute. He got to his feet, lurching like he was drunk, and with a final glance at the body he stumbled up the alley back to the street, surprised to find tears slipping down his face._

_There was a car coming, purring up the street, and Jeremy felt panic clutch at his insides. He hadn't moved fast enough, he was going to be seen, he was going to go to jail...the headlights picked him out, standing against the brick wall of the alley, white as a ghost and with eyes as wide and staring as those of the body behind him. The car slowed to a stop and the door opened._

_"Jeremy?" It was Mr Reeve. Jeremy stared at him, stupid and mute. "What is it?"_

_"He's dead," Jeremy said, finding his voice. It was wavery and panicked. "He's dead. I killed him."_

_"Who?" He could see Mr Reeve taking in the blood on his hands and clothes with slowly widening eyes. "Who's dead?"_

_"Santa," Jeremy said, not bothering to wipe away the tears. "I killed him. With the knife. He's dead."_

_Mr Reeve gave him a long, hard look. "Where?"_

_"What am I going to do? I'm going to go to jail, and I'm sorry, I just wanted to help -"_

_"Where, Jeremy? Where's the knife?"_

_"Back there. The alleyway. I'm sorry..." He followed reluctantly as Mr Reeve strode into the alleyway, looked at the body briefly, and picked up the knife. There was silence for a moment._

_"Well, you certainly did a number on him, didn't you?"_

_"Mmm," Jeremy said, around a sob. He couldn't bear to look at the corpse, and found himself fascinated by a jagged brick jutting out of the wall nearby while he tried hard not to lose the contents of his stomach. When his eyes finally turned back to the body, he saw Mr Reeve wiping the knife clean on Santa's coat before dropping it by the corpse's side._

_"Did you touch anything else?" Reeve asked._

_"What?" He tried to think. "I, um...I checked his pulse. Why?" He watched as Mr Reeve used Santa's hat to wipe at the spot Jeremy had touched. When he was done, Mr Reeve let the hat fall into Santa's lap like a discarded napkin. "What are you doing?"_

_"Your fingerprints. If these are the only things you touched, you're in the clear."_

_Jeremy blinked. "What? No, I have to go to the police, I have to tell them what happened."_

_Mr Reeve straightened up, reached out and gripped Jeremy's shoulders. "Now you listen to me. The only thing you have to do is go home, take a shower and get rid of those clothes."_

_"But -"_

_"No buts. You want to go to jail? You want the firm to have the stigma of having hired a murderer? Is that what you want?"_

_"No, but -"_

_"So what you have to do is go home, get rid of the clothes, burn them, dump them in the river, I don't care, and forget this ever happened."_

_"I can't." The tears were flowing freely now, sticky as the blood coating his hands. He didn't miss the look of disgust on Mr Reeve's face._

_"You can and you will," Mr Reeve said, and by the light of the fire Jeremy could see that black, soulless cloud in his boss' eyes. "Stop being such a child, Jeremy. Grow up. You think they won't find some way of pinning charges on me if you confess? I just wiped your prints off the knife. I'm an accessory. You want me to go to jail as well as you?"_

_"No," Jeremy said, making an effort to clean his face._

_"Then go home. Don't talk to anyone about this. Forget it ever happened. You don't know anything about what happened to Santa Claus. There's no proof you were even there. You'll be fine as long as you keep your mouth shut. Okay?"_

_Jeremy found himself transfixed by the body. He'd done that. He'd caused all that blood, and those sightless eyes. And Mr Reeve wanted him to forget that it had happened...he couldn't, could he? Should he try? He didn't want Mr Reeve to get into trouble as well as him. And Natalie...he'd never have a chance with her if he went to jail. But those eyes...he hated that Mr Reeve had uncovered them so that they stared, blank and accusing, up at him. He found himself reaching out to grasp the hat, wanting to replace it._

_"Jeremy, what the Christ are you doing?" Mr Reeve's hand was suddenly on his elbow, holding him back. "Fingerprints, boy, for God's sake." The hand spun him around until he was back facing his boss, transfixed once again by the soulless black eyes. "This happened for a _reason_, Jeremy. This man, he was sending the firm down the drain, ruining everyone's lives, and you've stopped him. You want to throw all that away? You want to go to jail, send me to jail, see the firm shut down?"_

_"No," Jeremy mumbled._

_"Then don't talk about it to anyone. Go home, dump the clothes and forget it happened. Just go on as you normally do and everything will be fine. Okay?" The empty eyes held him, hypnotised, and he slowly felt his willpower drain away to nothing._

_"Okay," he sniffed. Mr Reeve was right as always. Why should he go to jail? What good would it do? And now the knife was clean, there was nothing to show he'd even been in the alleyway. He could just go on as he had before. Everything could just go back to the way they should be. _

_"Good," Mr Reeve said, trying to smile. "Now come on, I'll drop you home. You're on my way, and you can't get on a bus in your condition." He put a friendly arm around the younger man, and Jeremy felt a needle of warmth pierce the coldness around his heart._

_"You did a good thing here, Jeremy," Mr Reeve said as they walked to the car. A few lazy flakes of snow floated down out of the sky, just a hint of the more serious snow that would later nearly cover the body. "A good thing. Everyone will be better off now, you'll see."_

_----------_

There was utter silence in the interview room. Lilly and Scotty were frozen, listening intently to Jeremy's words. A lone tear tracked it's way down the young man's cheek.

"So you did what Reeve said," Lilly said, eventually. "You went home."

"I went home," Jeremy agreed. "I showered, bagged the clothes. I dumped them in the river the next day. I pretended like I knew nothing about what had happened."

He paused, fingers circling a pattern on the table top. The lawyer shifted, as though just realising it was going to be nearly impossible to defend his client once the case got to court. Lilly and Scotty waited.

"I did what he said," Jeremy said finally. "I did what he said. I always do what Mr Reeve says..."

----------

End of Chapter Eleven. Last chapter next! Reviews are as always welcome.


	12. Joy To The World

Tis The Season by Henabrey

See Chapter One for disclaimers and all that other administrative stuff.

This is it! The final chapter! Hope you've enjoyed reading the story so far as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

----------

Chapter Twelve: Joy to the World

----------

It was two days later, and the morning of Christmas Eve. It was cold and foggy; icy fingers of mist wrapped themselves like seaweed around the trees and gravestones of the cemetery on the city's outskirts and coiled tendrils of smoke through the small knot of people standing huddled together by the side of an empty grave. Snow, newly fallen the night before, clung to the bare branches of the tree above their heads and coated the graves in a blanket of white, and the scent of it was heavy on the air. There was little to be heard; the mumbles of the gathered people drowned out the distant sound of traffic. Despite the cold weather, the cemetery was a place of peace and tranquillity.

When Lilly and Scotty had arrived ten minutes before, there had only been five others there; John Wilson and four others they didn't know, all obviously homeless but wearing new-looking coats and scarves. They all seemed to be at least on speaking terms with the lawyer, and two at least seemed to be friends of his. Wilson had greeted each of the detectives with a large smile and a handshake, obviously pleased to see them. The other men had eyed them suspiciously, clearly too used to cops being the bad guys to be comfortable in their presence, until John had introduced them as the detectives who'd caught Nicholas' killer. The looks of suspicion cleared in an instant and were replaced by broad grins and words of welcome. One man, who called himself Nero, offered to share his hip flask with Scotty.

John was standing a little apart from the other four men, by the side of a headstone covered by a thick black cloth. Every so often, he would glance at his watch and look down the slope to the cemetery's car park, empty but for his Audi and the Taurus Lilly and Scotty had borrowed from headquarters for the drive over. "They'll be here, Mis'er Wilson," Nero told him cheerfully. "Ain't nobody gonna miss today."

"Yes, yes," John said, still staring down the slope. "I'm sure you're right." And he made an effort to look elsewhere, but Lilly saw his eyes steal to his watch and to the car park every thirty seconds or so while they waited. It seemed to get colder by the minute, and Lilly found herself huddled into Scotty for warmth despite the thick coat, gloves, scarf and hat she wore. Not that he seemed to mind, though.

Finally, the rumble of an approaching vehicle caused everyone's heads to turn towards the cemetery's entrance, and Lilly smiled to see a dilapidated yellow school bus turn into the car park, haemorrhaging thick black smoke, with the familiar dark face of Freddie Taylor at the steering wheel. The engine groaned and shuddered into silence as the bus pulled to a lurching stop. God knew how Freddie had got it there, Lilly thought - it seemed to be on its last legs. The door swung open on the second or third attempt, and disgorged what seemed like the entire population of Philadelphia's homeless onto the frozen ground. Lilly watched, amazed, as the seemingly endless stream of people exited the bus. It was like one of those clown cars - they must have been sitting six to a seat.

"Wow," she heard John say softly as he watched the newcomers make their way up the path to join them. "Look at them all."

Anna Taylor, serene and proud, was at the head of the crowd; by her side walked Kevin Morgan, resplendent in orange and yellow, who nodded his head regally when he saw Lilly and Scotty. Behind them straggled a long line of people, many of whom Lilly recognised as those she and Scotty had interviewed three days before at Freddie's shelter. All of them had been warmly dressed in new and clean coats and all greeted John Wilson before taking their place in a ring around the gravesite. Angie Dickson brought up the rear, shuffling along with the aid of Rosa and Freddie, who had to kick the door of the bus several times before it would close.

"Borrowed it from a friend of mine," he explained to Scotty cheerfully when he reached them. "Damned thing barely runs, but it was the best I could do."

"I am most pleased to see you here, Detectives," Kevin said, appearing silently at Lilly's elbow.

"You too," Lilly said, meaning it. Kevin was also wearing a new coat, a bright, sunflower yellow with matching tophat. "That's a great coat."

"Thankyou," Kevin said. "It was a gift, from a most generous and anonymous benefactor." Lilly saw his eyes steal their way over to John Wilson, who was pointedly not looking in their direction, and she had no doubt that the new clothing had come from him.

"What are you goin' to do now, Kevin?" Scotty asked. "Goin' travellin' again?"

"Exactly so," Kevin said. "I leave the day after tomorrow."

"Where to this time?" Lilly asked.

"Well, Detective, I have been to thirty-seven states," Kevin said, proudly. "I have thirteen more to visit in this wondrous country of ours. After that, I do not know."

"Good for you," Scotty told him.

Kevin nodded. "I can only hope that Nicholas, wherever he is, can see how I have taken his words to heart. Life is short, he told me, much too short for needless fear. Do you remember I told you that? You should listen to those words also, I think."

"I have," Scotty said, and Lilly felt his eyes flick over to her. She blushed.

"I am pleased," Kevin said. "For you deserve every happiness. Both of you do."

"Thankyou," Lilly said, as he pressed her hand and moved on.

Freddie and his busload of people were not the only new arrivals; from Lilly's vantage point towards the edge of the group of mourners, she could see more people working their way towards them from the other end of the cemetery, and there were other cars now joining the bus in the car park. On and on they came, appearing through the fog like ghosts, singly or in groups of two or three; homeless, hookers and housewives all moving as one through the graves. Obvious ex-junkies who still wore the pale, haunted stare of prisoners, teenagers wrapped in leather and attitude, suit-clad office workers, two Jeeps full of bling-covered gang members, even a couple of people she recognised as being high up in the ranks at City Hall, all here for the same reason. The same man. Lilly smiled at Carmel Watson, who appeared out of the mist arm in arm with Hachiko Matsumi. Paul Lawson, newly out on bail and shifty-eyed, wasn't far behind them. Lilly had no idea how John had managed to spread the word to so many people from so many different walks of life.

Finally, twenty minutes after her arrival, Lilly found herself standing with Scotty on the edge of a crowd that must have numbered well over two hundred. They were slightly up the slope from the headstone, standing under a tree that waved its naked branches in the slight breeze, and they had a good view over the heads of the crowd to John Wilson, who was standing in the midst of the circle and clearly touched by the turnout.

"Well," he said, and had to stop to clear his throat. "Well. Thankyou for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it!" piped a voice from somewhere at the back, and the crowd laughed as one.

"Quite. Well, we all know why we are here," John said, and the crowd sobered. "We are here to give thanks for the life of a good man and to mourn his untimely passing. Maybe we should have done this two years ago, when he first died, but I think that now that his murderer has finally been put behind bars is perhaps as good a time as any." There were a few appreciative glances towards Lilly and Scotty by the people standing around them, and Lilly felt herself blush again as John continued.

"Like all of you, I only knew Nicholas for the last three weeks or so of his life. Where he was before that, what he did with his life before that, none of us know. It's not much of a eulogy, I guess. He lived on a street corner and he wished people Merry Christmas," he smiled, and a few people laughed. "But it was a lot more than that. His words touched people, touched all of you, so much so that two years later you've come here to say goodbye to a man you hardly knew. I look around at you all, and I know so many of you have changed your lives because of his words." His eyes lingered on Carmel Watson, who was crying silently, and Kevin Morgan. "You've left bad situations, sought out new horizons, kicked the habits of a lifetime, all because of the simple words of one very special man. And maybe that's the best eulogy of all, if at the end of your life someone can say, 'he made the world a better place'."

There were sniffles from various places in the crowd, and John paused to clear his throat. Lilly felt Scotty shift beside her. "I've had this created," John went on, indicating the headstone at his feet, "to act as a memorial for him, even if he himself isn't here to rest beneath it. But I think the greatest memorial we could have for him would be to carry on his work. If each and every one of you were to try to make your life and the lives of those around you just a little bit better, well, what a wonderful legacy that would be." There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd, and Lilly could see Kevin Morgan nodding vigorously.

"So, without further ado, I'd like to unveil this memorial stone to Nicholas, whoever he was, wherever he is now. Let it be an inspiration to us all, as a reminder that we should each, in our own small way, live our lives as he would have wanted." He bent down and uncovered the stone by his feet. Lilly couldn't see it from where she was standing, but there was a smattering of applause from those at the front of the circle who could read its words. "And now, if there are any of you who would like to say anything?" John asked, glancing around the crowd.

There was a pause, while those in the crowd looked at each other silently, before a woman in a leopard-print coat and three inch stilettos stepped forward. "I was a crackhead whore," she said baldly, and some people clapped. "Goin' down a dark path, before I met Santa..." She told the crowd in a matter of fact tone about her life before she'd met Nicholas, and how she'd kicked the habit with his encouragement, and when she'd finished there was another brief pause before another woman spoke up, and then a teenager, and a man who'd turned from a life of crime, and another and another and another until they were all virtually speaking over the top of each other in their effort to tell their stories. Carmel Watson spoke up bravely, holding Hachiko's hand for comfort, the tears running freely down her face, before Kevin told his story proudly, before Paul Lawson spoke in a shuffling, halting manner, before even Angie Dickson, refusing to be rushed, said a few words, and on and on it went, from one part of the crowd to another, all with the same story of the simple words that had changed their lives.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the crowd had talked itself out and fell silent. Many seemed surprised that they had spoken out at all, about matters so personal, in front of such a large group of people. There were a few embarrassed smiles. John Wilson was clearly struggling to speak. "Thankyou," he said finally, in a husky voice. "Thank all of you."

And without another word, without a sign of goodbye, the crowd began to disperse as slowly and silently as they had arrived, departing in trickles of two or three people at a time. All paused in front of the tombstone for a moment, paying their respects, before disappearing into the fog that still threaded its fingers through the trees and headstones around them. A cool wind rustled the branches above Lilly's head as she watched Carmel and Hachiko turn to leave. Just before they vanished into the mist, they turned to face what was left of the crowd. Carmel's eyes found Lilly's, and she smiled. It was quavery and weak at first, then, after heaving a visible sigh, it became stronger and fuller, transforming her face. It looked as though it had been a long time between grins for her, but Lilly hoped the smile was a sign of things to come. She smiled back, which became a grin of her own as she saw Paul Lawson make his way over to them cautiously. There was an awkward pause, and then all three turned together, arm in arm, and were lost to the fog.

On Lilly's other side, Anna Taylor was leading her group of shelter residents back down the hill towards the dilapidated school bus. Many of them waved to the two detectives as they left, and Kevin tipped his tophat in their direction and promised to send them a postcard. Angie Dickson brought up the rear again, accompanied by Rosa. The bus was coaxed back to life by Freddie, and it lurched out of the car park, covering the nearby cars with black smoke as it left.

Eventually, there was just John Wilson and two or three others left at the gravesite with Scotty and Lilly. John was deep in conversation with the other men, who were passing around Nero's hip flask with great enthusiasm, leaving the two detectives standing alone under the rustling tree. Without the other people for warmth, the bitter cold began to seep into Lilly's thin frame, and she knew she couldn't stay there much longer. Still, she made no effort to move.

"This was a weird case," she said finally, after a minute of silence.

Scotty turned to her, arched one eyebrow.

"Well," she said. "Did you notice that Helen brought us the Santa hat exactly two years after Nicholas was killed? To the _day_."

"Huh," Scotty said. "Yeah, you're right."

"And the same day we start investigating, Paul Lawson gets arrested, and if that hadn't happened we'd never have known who was responsible for the assault."

"And we'd probably never have found out about Carmel and Jerry," Scotty agreed.

"Right," Lilly said, suppressing an involuntary shiver. Damn, it was cold out here. "Which led us to Bill and Helen's affair, and Jeremy's involvement. We'd probably never have solved the case at all if it weren't for that."

"Yeah," said Scotty, mulling it over. "You're right, it's weird."

"Weird."

"Kinda like someone was watchin' over us, somehow. Helpin' us out."

Lilly smiled, sneaking a look at Scotty while pretending to watch John Wilson talking to his companions. "And...there was the mistletoe."

Scotty looked at her, surprised to hear her bring it up. It was the first time in two days she'd brought up any subject anywhere close to the question between them. She'd told him the morning of Jeremy's confession that she was thinking about the prospect of a relationship, and then...nothing. He'd have guessed she'd decided against it, except that every so often he'd feel her eyes on him as they worked in the bullpen, and every so often when he caught her gaze she'd smile this secret, shy smile. Not trying to be seductive, but seducing him all over again every time she did it. He was lost in her, he had to admit it. "The mistletoe?"

"I mean...well, I only got stuck under it when I was with you."

He didn't need to look at her to know she was blushing. He could hear it in her voice. "Yeah, me too."

"And we haven't seen any since we...since New York."

He thought about it. She was right, they hadn't. "It's the universe. Conspirin' against us." He felt her smile.

"In fact, I didn't even _see_ any mistletoe, anywhere, until we started this case."

"Me neither." He glanced over at her, but she was staring resolutely straight ahead at the fog, not looking in his direction. "You think it means anythin'?"

She met his gaze, then, looking a little startled. She'd probably never considered it; she didn't seem the type to believe in fate, or destiny, or supernatural matchmakers. Neither was he, really, but this weird case seemed to have gone to his head and had him willing to believe in just about anything. And it would explain the strange message he'd got in his fortune cookie. Or maybe he just wanted to believe that if he and Lilly were meant to be, they would _have_ to be. Just because someone unseen was sending them mistletoe. _Valens, you're a romantic idiot._ Lilly was still looking at him, looking like she wanted to say something. Her mouth opened a little, taking in air, and then closed. Scotty shook his head. "Forget it. Probably just means we've been workin' too hard. We need a very large drink and a very long vacation."

She laughed softly, a startling sound in the still, fog-strewn air. "You're probably right."

They lapsed into silence once more, Lilly with her hands jammed deep in her pockets for warmth, eyes stealing away from Scotty's to take in the cemetery, the branches waving over her head, the men standing by the gravestone. Now that the crowd had dispersed she could read the inscription carved into the stone: _Nicholas_, followed by the date of his death, and underneath, in an elegant scrolled script, _he changed the world with his words_. Lilly smiled. She could use him right about now, she mused - she needed his words of guidance to help her make her choice. She felt bad for making Scotty wait all this time while she wavered back and forth, and she thought if she waited any longer he'd probably just give up and figure she'd decided against the prospect of a relationship with him. He'd be hurt, she knew, and she didn't want him thinking that she couldn't at least have the courtesy to tell him no, it was just...she couldn't make up her mind. It was too hard trying to go against the habits and lessons learned during a lifetime of repeated heartbreaks to just go where her heart wanted to go. Yes, she wanted him, she acknowledged that. She couldn't deny her feelings for him. But...she'd been hurt so often in the past, and her fear of opening herself up to someone, coupled with the practical reasons why sleeping with a work colleague was a bad idea, meant her head was telling her to say no. It was safer. Scotty would still be her friend if she said no, and she wouldn't be risking yet more heartache. She should just get it over with, tell him no.

Only...she didn't want to. Her heart was telling her to say yes.

Lilly sighed. That was why she needed someone like Nicholas, to take her by the hand and talk her through it, talk her into it, one way or the other. Otherwise she'd be wandering around in a limbo of her own making forever. She needed a sign of some kind, some arrow pointing her in the right direction...

A shaft of weak sunlight, piercing the clouds, fell onto the cemetery grounds not far from where she and Scotty were standing. Her gaze followed it, her mind wandering among the gravestones, weighing her choices until she was lost in a fog of her own thoughts. Scotty played a prominent role in her musings. He was a good man, she thought to herself. He'd be good _for_ her, if she'd let him. He'd worked with her for years, knew the way she operated; he shared her devotion to the job, and would respect her need for space and solitude while still giving her the support and love she craved. She knew instinctively that he could take whatever she threw at him, unlike all the other men over the years who just hadn't been able to deal with her...

_So what's the problem?_ asked a small voice inside her. _Just grab him and kiss him already._ Lilly sighed again. If only it were that easy. But there was a solid block of icy fear inside her that wouldn't melt, that blackly insisted that if she said yes to Scotty and the relationship went the way of all the others she'd ever had, she'd be losing a lot more than just a lover. It would jeopardise their partnership and their friendship, two things she cherished, and she just wasn't sure she could take the risk. She wanted to - at least she thought she did - but that fear in her heart stopped her in her tracks. A sign, that was what she needed. Something to help her choose the right path...

Her eyes, meandering over the patch of wavering sunlight that fell among the graves, sensed a movement. Her gaze focused. She thought she could see through the fog...a person standing by a gravestone...a hint of red...

The sound of someone calling brought her back to her present surroundings; the men John Wilson had been talking to had started to move off into the mist with much smiling and waving. She and Scotty both nodded in farewell to the men as they made their way down the slope towards the city. There was a final wave from the one who'd called himself Nero, and then they were gone, swallowed by the fog, leaving just the three of them standing by Nicholas' empty grave. Lilly looked back to where she thought she'd seen the standing figure - there was nobody there, no hint there ever had been. _This case has got to my head,_ she thought. She gave herself a mental shake, which Scotty must have seen and interpreted as a shiver.

"You cold?" he asked, touching her shoulder. "We'll go."

"A bit," she admitted, surprised when Scotty didn't remove his hand but let it trail down to the small of her back, guiding her towards the gravestone and John Wilson. She was surprised how natural it felt, how it chased the cold away. She surprised herself by not only letting it stay but welcoming it.

"I wanted to thank you, for coming here," John said, as they approached.

"Wouldn't have missed it," Scotty said.

"It was lovely," Lilly added.

"It _was_ lovely, wasn't it?" John said, his face split by a smile. "So many people. I couldn't believe how many people came." He cleared his throat and looked away.

"So...what now?" Scotty asked, after a pause.

"Ah, well," John said, recovered. He smiled ruefully. "I spoke to Helen yesterday. She's still in New York."

"Oh, yeah?"

"She, uh, told me about Bill."

"Oh," Scotty said, not sure what else to say. "Sorry."

John shrugged. "I guess I kind of suspected. It wasn't such a shock as I think she wanted it to be."

"So what now?"

"I'm sure Nicholas would preach forgiveness." He shrugged again. "I guess it's up to her. Nothing's worked out how she thought it would."

"Oh?"

John shifted and smiled ruefully. "She didn't come right out and say it, but I'm sure she only brought the hat to you because she thought it would get me thrown in jail. Can you believe it? My own wife."

"The thought had crossed our minds, as well," Scotty told him.

"Right. And then she'd be free to divorce me and marry Bill without anyone in her precious social circle thinking badly of her. That's why she helped Jeremy when he got to New York, you know. Because he told her that the cops were trying to use him to pin the murder on Bill. She'd have done anything to protect Bill. But now it's all gone to hell for her. I'm in the clear. Bill's, well...and the firm..." he trailed off. "Truthfully? I'm a little sorry for her. Stupid, huh? Nicholas must have rubbed off on me. I told her I take her back if she wanted to come, but there were going to be a few changes."

"Oh?"

"The firm will be wrapped up," John said, matter of factly. "I don't know what's happening with Bill, whether he'll be charged with anything -"

"The DA's office has our evidence," Lilly said. "They're considering it."

"Right," said John. "But either way, I'm not working with him again. Not after this. Even if he were totally innocent, I just can't do it anymore, this charade. I'm going to use my lawyering skills to do some good in the world, just like Nicholas would have wanted."

"Like what?" Scotty asked.

"I don't know, really," John said, and laughed. "Civil rights, maybe. Or I could set up a firm to provide help to those who normally can't afford a lawyer. I might even end up as a public prosecutor. I haven't decided yet."

"DA's office can always use a good lawyer," Scotty said.

"So I told Helen that if she can handle owning a smaller house, driving a cheaper car and living in middle class obscurity, I'd welcome her back. She said she'd think about it." He shrugged, and glanced at the headstone beside him. "I don't care, really. It could all turn to shit and I wouldn't care. I could end up living alone in a crummy rat-infested apartment above a liquor store and eat two-minute noodles night after night and it wouldn't matter. At least I'd be doing the work I wanted to work, not what others expected me to do. I'm not going to live in fear of change anymore."

"You ain't scared anymore?" Scotty asked, eyeing him.

"No, I'm terrified," John said with a short laugh. "But it doesn't matter. I'm not going to let it run me, ever again, and I'm not going to let myself stand in the way of something that I really want. Being safe isn't the same as being happy; it's not worth staying safe if it costs you the chance to really make a difference in your life, to really go after what you want. It's taken me awhile, but I've finally learnt my lesson. So I'm done listening to my fear. I have a life to live."

"Good luck," Scotty said, offering a hand. They shook.

"Good luck," Lilly echoed faintly, offering her own hand. Scotty glanced at her, surprised by the tone of her voice. She was eyeing John carefully, looking shocked and wary by his words. Scotty didn't have a chance to ask her why; she was already moving away. He followed, catching up with her before she'd taken more than a few steps, and he fell into line, carefully not looking in her direction. Obviously she'd been struck by what John had said, and he didn't want her to know he'd noticed. He thought it might have had something to do with the decision she was mulling over, and calling her on it might spook her. He was content to let her work through it on her own - John's words could only help his cause.

Back at the car, they both paused and glanced back at the lonely grave positioned under the naked tree, still wreathed in threads of fog. John Wilson was standing by its side, alone, hands in pockets and head bowed. As they watched, he looked up and saw them turned in his direction. He waved, and Scotty could see him smile. Then his head dropped back down, and as the detectives' car reversed out of the car park, they could see him still standing, motionless, studying the words on the gravestone, until the car turned, and they lost sight of him.

----------

For the victims of crime, time stands still while the numbed mind comes to terms with the sudden, brutal change in its ordered world. As the shock wears off, and the short staggering steps of the healing process begins, time crawls by, an inch at a time, each slow minute of false normality a relief and worthy of mute celebration.

For the cops who investigate the crime, each case leaves its indelible mark on the soul - but time moves on. While the victims pick up the pieces of their shattered world and attempt to make sense of what has happened to them, the cops move on. Another day, another case to investigate. So it was that after Lilly and Scotty had left the cemetery they headed to a neat row house in South Philadelphia, home to another victim of another crime that now demanded their attention. Amy Morelli had been nine when her parents had been shot dead in the living room of their house, right in front of her; she'd been found the next day by a next door neighbour, soaked in congealed blood and too traumatised by what she'd witnessed to answer anyone's questions. With no forensic evidence worth a damn and a witness who couldn't or wouldn't recall what she'd seen, the case had quickly died. Three years on, and one of the Morelli's former employees had made a drunken confession to an ex-girlfriend who'd passed the information on to the police, and the case had been reopened. Trouble was, they needed a witness statement from Amy.

"I wouldn't expect much," Amy's aunt, Matilda, had explained as they arrived. "She's been living with me since...since it happened, and she's never said anything about that night. I think she can't remember anything."

Lilly had Amy's photo on the drawers next to her bed at home; a dark eyed, dark-haired angel of a girl with a smile big enough to light up the world, flanked on either side by parents who obviously adored her. The girl they found in a small, pink bedroom on the row house's second story was a ghost of that former child; pale, silent, with a face masked by shadows Lilly recognised only too well. She'd seen them on her own face in the mirror far too often growing up not to feel a lurch of sympathetic recognition at the sight of Amy, curled up on the bed with a ratty teddy bear firmly and defiantly clasped in her hands.

"Hi, Amy," Lilly said from the doorway. "Mind if we come in?"

"Who are you?" The girl asked, fixing the detectives with a suspicious stare.

Lilly introduced herself and Scotty, seeing a shutter slide firmly closed in Amy's eyes. Determined not to give up, she took a seat at the foot of the bed, careful not to get too close. Scotty remained by the door.

"Cute bear," he observed. "He got a name?"

"I'm too old for teddy bears," Amy informed him tonelessly, but her hands tightened slightly on the bear's ears.

"Oh, you're never too old for bears," Scotty said. "I've still got one." He caught Lilly's amused, disbelieving stare, and shrugged. "In a box in my closet. Fred. Had him since I was two."

The corner of Amy's mouth quirked. "Sebastian," she said, indicating the bear in her arms.

"That's a great name," Lilly told her, smiling. Amy smiled back, tentatively. "Amy...you know why we're here?"

The transformation was instant. The slight sliver of warmth on the girl's face Lilly could detect earlier vanished, replaced by a wooden, blank stare. Amy's knees drew up closer to her body, and she clutched the bear even tighter. "Because of my parents."

"That's right," Lilly said. "It's about what happened to them. We think maybe we've found out who... who hurt them."

"They were killed," Amy said blankly, staring into space.

"Yeah," Lilly said. "Do you remember the night that happened?"

Amy was silent.

"You were there," Scotty said from the doorway. "You must have seen who did it."

Her eyelids flickered, but there was no other acknowledgement of Scotty's words.

"Amy," Lilly said gently, leaning a little closer to the curled up girl, "do you think that if I showed you a picture, maybe you could look at it for me?"

There was a tiny nod, and Lilly slid the suspect's photo from the file she was holding in her hand. She turned it around and held it before Amy's face. The girl gave it a lightning quick glance before resuming her blank stare, but the exhaled breath, tear-filled eyes and clenched hands told Lilly all she needed to know. She exchanged a glance with Scotty. "Do you recognise this man, Amy?"

Silence.

"Was he there the night your parents were killed?" Scotty asked.

"I don't remember," Amy said, through a throat clogged with unshed tears.

"You're afraid," Lilly said, quietly.

"I don't remember," Amy insisted, whispering.

"It's okay," Lilly assured her. "You saw a terrible thing that night. It's natural to be afraid of the man who did those things. I'd be afraid too."

Silence.

"I know what it's like, living in fear, Amy," Lilly said, flicking a glance at Scotty. "I've done it most of my life."

"You watch your parents get killed, too?" Amy asked a little scornfully.

_Watched my mom try and drink herself to death a few times_, Lilly thought but didn't say. "No," she said, after a pause. "But I've had some...some bad things have happened to me." She felt Scotty shift position, no doubt wondering if he should leave. She smiled inwardly at his respect for her privacy, but pushed on. Amy had turned to look at her. "It's made me afraid, of being open with people, trusting them, let alone telling them what happened to me."

Lilly could feel Amy's eyes still on her, but her own gaze was momentarily turned inward, seeing a ten year old girl, broken and terrified. No longer a child. She shook her head briefly to bring herself back to the present. "It's safer, isn't it, Amy? Not talking to anyone about the things you've seen, or how you feel. It's scary being open with people."

Amy looked back down at the bear in her lap, but nodded slightly.

"And that's okay," Lilly assured her. "Sometimes fear's a good thing, isn't it? It keeps you safe. Tells you when you're about to do something that could get you hurt, right? I wish I could tell you that helping us catch the guy who killed your parents won't get you hurt...but I can't. If we arrest him, you'll have to testify at his trial. You'll have to be in the same room as him, have to look at him. He may even try to talk to you. It'll be scary. And it will be painful."

Scotty shifted again behind her. She didn't need to look at him to know he was doubtful about her approach, that he thought she was likely to scare the girl into never helping them, but she pushed on. She couldn't explain it, but she knew this was the right way to get Amy to talk.

"So you could just stay here in your room and never tell anyone about what happened. It must be tempting to go on the way you have, being safe. Your parents' killer will go on walking the streets, doing whatever he likes, but you don't have to think about that. You won't ever have to face him. No one would blame you for wanting to stay safe and not be afraid. It will be okay. It's just...I learned something, about fear, this week."

Amy turned back in her direction, a questioning look on her face.

"I learnt that sometimes fear keeps you safe and unhurt...and sometimes it can just eat you alive," she said, around a lump in her throat. "Sometimes you can get to the end of your life and all you have to show for it is your fear, because it's chewed up and destroyed anything else you may have had. Your hopes and dreams, anything you may have wanted because your fear kept you from moving forward." She saw Amy's eyes widen slightly. Was she getting through to her? "Your parents, they would have wanted things for you. They'd want you to live your life even if they can't be in it, and, Amy, you can't live it stuck up here in your bedroom afraid that every time you walk down the street you're going to see the man who's ruined your life. You just can't. If your parents were here, Amy, I'm sure they'd tell you the same thing: sometimes you just have to do something, even if you are afraid. Sometimes it's easier living with your fear than living without what you could have if you act despite it."

Amy's eyes were slowly filling with tears. "Like what?" she whispered.

"Whatever you like," Lilly said, feeling pinpricks of unshed tears in her own eyes. "Peace, I hope. Justice for your parents. Hope for the future."

There was a long pause that seemed to stretch out for hours; Amy appeared to be weighing Lilly's words in her mind. Lilly watched her trying to reach a decision, empathising with her plight and aching to try and sooth her fears. There was nothing more she could do, though; Amy would have to work through it alone, just as Lilly herself had to work through _her_ fears. She could feel Scotty's eyes on her, dark and solemn. No doubt trying to fathom her words, trying to decide if she were speaking to him as well as to Amy. Lilly couldn't help him. She wasn't even sure where her words had come from, what part of her, buried deep, was trying to speak, and whether it was a voice she could listen to. It was as though John Wilson's words from that morning had been reborn inside her. Silence reigned; it was so quiet they could hear Aunt Matilda's soap opera playing on the downstairs television.

Finally, with a face that spoke of heartbreak and long nights of tears, with quivering lips and mutely staring eyes, Amy opened her mouth. And began to tell her story.

----------

Ordinarily, there were always a few hardy souls to be found in PPD's Homicide Division late at night, unwilling or unable to go home while their cases were still to be solved. Tonight, though, it was Christmas Eve, and those not on active duty had deserted the place for family, friends or a bottle at the local bar. Scotty had done his share of late nights since he'd joined the Cold Squad, and he couldn't remember the place ever being this empty. Even the detective unlucky enough to pull Christmas Eve desk duty had temporarily vanished, leaving Scotty the only one still there. Someone had turned off most of the overhead lights, leaving the place gloomy and dark, lit only by a few desk lamps.

It wasn't like the case had grabbed his attention all that strongly; after Amy had broken her silence they were well on their way to gathering enough evidence to put the suspect away permanently, and Scotty was confident that tomorrow would be the guy's last Christmas outside a jail cell. No, it was Lilly's words to Amy that afternoon that had him sitting in the bullpen long after everyone else had disappeared. He hadn't even heard them leaving. Her _words_, good God. Surely he wasn't just being blindly hopeful that her words had been spoken for her own benefit, not just for Amy? Could he dare hope that she'd follow her own advice and seek the chance of happiness despite her fears?

She'd avoided his gaze since they'd returned, and made sure they were never alone, so he'd had little opportunity of trying to gage her frame of mind. On the surface, she'd seemed just as she always did; singularly driven towards solving the crime and obtaining justice for the victims. Passionate and focused. But the fact she couldn't look him in the eye spoke volumes; despite the calm exterior, she must be in turmoil deep inside. But he'd promised her space and time, and he couldn't push her into revealing her torment despite the fact he was nearly bursting out of his skin with impatient hope. He would just have to wait, hope that sooner or later she'd decide to share her thoughts with him. Hope that those thoughts tended towards saying yes to his earlier question. He'd never been good at playing the waiting game. Always a man of action, now he was being forced to wait patiently for an answer to perhaps the most important question of his life. He felt like he could quietly explode.

He sighed and got out of his chair, shrugging his coat onto his shoulders. He dimly remembered Stillman saying something about shouting a round of eggnog at Jones', and he felt sorely in need of a drink. Maybe Lilly would be there, too, and he could try to find an excuse to sit next to her. Maybe even dance with her if she got enough eggnog into her and let down her inhibitions.

Halfway across the bullpen on the way to the elevators, he stopped. He _wasn't_ the only one still here. Outlined against the break room windows was a familiar figure, slender and graceful, standing staring out into the night, leaning against the glass wall separating the break room from the rest of the space. Scotty stopped in the doorway. "Hey," he said.

Lilly turned slightly so that she could meet his gaze. The light from the desk lamps barely reached into the break room, and she was mostly in shadow; only the street lights outside haloed her hair and reflected in her eyes. He was caught again by her beauty. "Hey," she returned.

"I think Stillman said somethin' about buyin' us all eggnog, if you're interested."

"Sure," she said, turning back to the window. "I'll be there in a minute."

There was a moment of silence, Scotty shuffling his feet, not wanting to leave without her but not wanting to push her. She seemed distracted and thoughtful, and as he watched the back of her head she heaved an audible sigh, turned around so she was half facing him, and held up her hand. "I found this."

She was holding a familiar looking plant. "Is that...?"

"Benson's mistletoe," she said, with a small laugh. "Vera finally cracked, told him if he didn't take it off right then Vera would shove it somewhere very dark and very uncomfortable."

Scotty joined in her laughter. "Remind me to buy Vera a drink later."

"I owe him one, too," Lilly said, smiling. She turned, then, so that she was looking directly at him, and her face became serious. Slightly nervous, too, Scotty thought, and his mirth died. Lilly looked like she finally had something to tell him. "So I came in here and found this," she said, indicating the mistletoe, "and I knew that the next person I'd see would be you."

"We do seem to make a habit of it," he ventured.

"Yeah," she said, taking a couple of steps towards him. "And...I realised I didn't mind the thought."

And that was supposed to mean...? "Okay."

Lilly was studying the floor, which she couldn't possibly see in the dim light. He wanted to reach out and tilt her head so that she'd have to look at him, but didn't dare move. Something crackled in the air around them. Finally, she spoke. "What I said, earlier...to Amy. About fear. I was kind of talking to myself, too."

He couldn't breathe. "I thought you might have been." Hoping, more like.

She nodded, still looking at the floor, and he caught a fleeting smile that spread across her face. "These past few days I've been wishing that Nicholas were here so he could give me some of his famous advice, you know? I haven't known what do to do. And then, talking with John this morning, and listening to what came out of my mouth earlier, I realised that he _was_ here. Sort of. At least, I think I knew already what he'd have told me. The words were inside me all along."

Scotty had frozen to the spot. It almost seemed as if she were saying...and then her eyes came up to meet his, shyly, and he was almost sure. Still, he couldn't speak. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. That brief smile lit up her features again and was gone.

"So, then I came in here, and I found the mistletoe, and that was kind of a sign. That...I think I need to listen to my own advice. I can't go on being dictated to by my fear of getting hurt."

"You're...you're not afraid?" Scotty asked, finding his voice.

"Petrified," Lilly said, almost laughing. "But like I told Amy, sometimes you need to do something even if you're afraid of it." Her gaze grew bold, meeting his directly, and he found himself lost in it. Gods, she was beautiful. He felt her touch his arm, trailing her hand up towards his shoulder in an almost casual gesture that spoke volumes. And it was saying - _she_ was saying..."So my answer is yes."

There was a long, pregnant pause, the silence full of mute conversation, their eyes dancing, while Lilly's hand returned to her side slowly. Her face was full of hope. _I've taken a big risk here,_ it seemed to be saying. _Prove to me it's not a mistake_. Scotty felt a smile as big as Texas spread over his own features. _Prove it?_ he thought. _Only for the rest of my life_. Something inside him had exploded, and he felt like their were fireworks going off in his chest. "That's the best Christmas present anyone's ever given me," he said finally, after what seemed like a month of deafening silence. "But does that mean now I owe Benson a very large drink?"

"I guess so."

"It's worth it."

Lilly studied his face, feeling herself return his smile. Had she made a mistake saying yes? Maybe. Only time would tell, of course, if she would end up even more heartbroken and alone than before. But what she'd said to Amy was right. John Wilson had been right, Kevin Morgan had been right. Taking the chance and following her heart was worth the risk. But, as she watched a look of incredulous joy spread over Scotty's handsome face, she thought maybe she _wasn't_ making a mistake. She thought maybe it was the smartest decision she'd ever made. _Nice work, Rush. Merry Christmas._

Then his arm reached out, and a hand that felt like it might have been trembling slightly traced the line of her face, brushing back her hair, and her mind went beautifully, wonderfully blank. All she wanted right then was to close the gap between them, those few inches, that gaping chasm. She stepped forward, and he met her in the middle. Their lips touched, tasting, greeting tentatively before their kiss deepened and their bodies crushed together and the darkened room, the snow filled world outside, faded away into nothingness.

The mistletoe fell to the floor, unneeded.

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And that's it! Please, please, please leave a review.


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